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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129495">Hold me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/memelovescaps/pseuds/memelovescaps'>memelovescaps</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Little Detective [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Regression/De-Aging, Bed-Wetting, Canon-Typical Violence, Caregiver!Joan, Crying Sherlock, Crying Sherlock Holmes, Diapers, Discussion of drugs, Dummy - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Kidnapping, Mention of Death, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifiers, Sherlock Holmes Needs a Hug, Thumb-sucking, Trauma, little!sherlock, mention of drugs, past trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:07:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>73,601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/memelovescaps/pseuds/memelovescaps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>A new case for the NYPD's consultant detectives brings forth painful memories for Sherlock, memories that trigger a mental age regression. Joan is left with the monumental task of helping Sherlock, and gets more than she bargained for when she finds out that all she had wanted to do was to care for her little detective.<br/>Read the tags!<br/>PS: If there are any inconsistencies it's because this was a WIP.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; Joan Watson (Elementary)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Little Detective [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887613</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey, dear readers!<br/>So I had this sitting on my computer for almost two years, but thanks to @MusicalProstituteMyDear and their lovely fic "The Itsy Bitsy Detective", I decided to continue this and give it a go! Thanks for your encouragement, darling! </p><p>I never post anything I haven't finished yet, so I may go back and change stuff as I keep going. I just want to write about Sherlock being little and Joan being the caregiver she is, and how they navigate this newly-found aspect of their relationship.<br/>Read the tags before reading, this isn't for everyone.</p><p>PS: Most littles call their caregivers "mummy" or "daddy", and while I don't rule that out completely, it didn't feel right for Sherlock to be calling Joan that. At least, not yet. </p><p>THAT'S IT, ENJOY!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock had disappeared.</p><p>Not disappeared in the sense of his usual disappearances. When Sherlock was nowhere to be found, he usually answered his phone after a few of Joan’s calls. If he really needed to be alone, he’d text her saying so and perhaps letting her know where he was. In any case, Sherlock never disappeared without leaving any trace Joan could follow.</p><p>This time, however, Joan was frantic. She couldn’t seem to find him anywhere, and she didn’t know what else to do. Neither Marcus nor the Captain had answered her calls, she’d tried Alfredo, all his irregulars, she’d even gone to the lengths of calling Athena, but she hadn’t been able to tell her where he was. She tried his phone one more time, all to no avail.</p><p>She mentally went through all the places he might’ve gone, from his usual meetings at St Luke’s to following a lead of a new case she wasn’t aware of… until her phone finally rang. It wasn’t Sherlock but Marcus, close enough.</p><p>“Marcus!” she almost shouted, and lost no time in asking “do you know where Sherlock is?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s why I call you. He’s here, at the precinct” Joan almost let a sigh of relief, when she picked up on Marcus’ tone “Joan, get down here quick. He… I think you need to see this”.</p><p>Joan didn’t answer and she lost no time in grabbing her purse, coat and scarf and left the brownstone right away. She hailed a taxi and almost begged him to take her to the precinct as quickly as he could possibly drive. When she got to the station, almost out of breath for having climbed the stairs instead of waiting for the lift, Marcus was waiting for her at the hall, accompanied by Captain Gregson.</p><p>“Hey” Marcus said. His face wore a deep frown, he was half-hunched and he seemed distressed.</p><p>“Where is he?” she demanded, not feeling a little bit sorry for not even greeting her friends. She needed to see Sherlock.</p><p>“He’s there, in that room” Gregson answered, signalling with his head “I tried to get in but he didn’t want anyone in there, he’s only been asking for you.” He continued while Marcus led them towards one of the interview rooms, the closest to the lift, she noted. She noticed the blinds had been closed, and she heard some noises coming from inside, but couldn’t exactly tell what it was. Marcus stopped her before she could open the door “wait. Joan, he… something’s happened to him”</p><p>“What?” she was beginning to lose her patience, neither Marcus nor the Captain were men prone to riddles or half-truths, but this time they were avoiding telling her something “what happened to him, Marcus?”</p><p>“We don’t know, but… it’s like he’s… regressed somehow” Marcus said “he was fine one second and then I saw him suddenly scrunch his face up and run and hide in this room.”</p><p>“I tried getting in, I tried talking to him… but he just won’t let us in. He just wants you”</p><p>Joan nodded, highly concerned now, and took a deep breath before the Captain opened the door.</p><p>“Hey Sherlock?” the Captain used the softest, most comforting voice he could muster “Joan’s here…”</p><p>“Jo-Joan?”</p><p>That did it for Joan. She could count with one hand the times that Sherlock had called her by her given name, so that was an indication that something was very wrong.</p><p>Her heart sank even deeper when she noticed that the muffled sounds she couldn’t distinguish before were, in fact, sobs. Sobs coming from the only occupant in the room: Sherlock himself. Joan took a few tentative steps, and stopped suddenly when she noticed where Sherlock was.</p><p>He had curled up in the corner furthest away from the door, the room almost dark, and he had his knees close to his chest. There was no light in the room but Joan could see from the light coming in through the corridor that something was shining in his face, and saw with a churning of her stomach that there were tears. Sherlock had been crying, and she hadn’t been there to stop it. The acute pain she felt in her chest left her almost breathless, for all the times Sherlock had cried, she had been there to help him work through it. But now, she hadn’t.</p><p>“Hey Sherlock” she whispered sweetly, taking another couple of steps. She tried to keep her voice down and devoid of any feeling of worry or accusation, and kneeled down a few feet away from him, so as to not scare him.</p><p>“Joan… you came!” Sherlock’s voice came small and, surprisingly, needy. In a swift movement he jumped and threw himself into Joan’s arms. She was taken aback momentarily when he felt Sherlock’s strong body lean into hers, when she noticed how he was clinging to her while attempting to find refuge in her arms, how his strong arms were frantically squeezing her while his face tried to hide in the crook of her neck.</p><p>She distantly heard the door closing and knew instinctively that her friends had left the room and closed the door behind them to give them some privacy. She thanked them mentally, since she knew how embarrassed Sherlock would be if the whole precinct saw him in this state.</p><p>“Sherlock… hey, what happened?” she whispered, reacting and returning Sherlock’s fierce embrace. At her movement Sherlock let out a pitiful whimper, and a few seconds later he was openly sobbing. His hands didn’t stop moving and she noticed, even though she couldn’t see it, that he was strongly grabbing her coat from behind her. The tears and sobs were shaking Sherlock’s body, and despite being a few feet taller than her, Joan felt it as if it was the body of a little, terrified child. His behaviour, at least, showed as much. Which reminded her, what had happened to bring Sherlock to <em>this </em>state?</p><p>There was a more pressing thought in Joan’s mind, however, because Sherlock wasn’t calming down, and his sobbing, even though silent, was becoming almost desperate. She started to hush next to his ear, in an attempt to stop his crying.</p><p>“Shhhh it’s alright…” she whispered in a hushed voice. Sherlock didn’t seem to listen to her, so she decided to follow his lead, even though she didn’t really understand what was happening. She gulped and leaned down to whisper right into his ear, with a very hushed and gentle tone “it’s okay, Joan’s here…”</p><p>She gently started rocking Sherlock’s body back and forth, as if he was indeed a small child, and one of her hands travelled to Sherlock’s short hair at the back of his head. Her fingers started to caress it with their fingertips, slow and gently, and little by little Sherlock began to calm down.</p><p>He was still hugging Joan and didn’t seem willing to let go of her, and when she gave a hint of movement, Sherlock’s hug became fierce again.</p><p>“Don’t… leave” he said in a strangled voice. The tone of fear had come back, and she hated that tone coming from him, so she settled down again and didn’t stop her soothing movements.</p><p>“I’m not leaving” she answered, her hand travelling to the cheek he wasn’t hiding in her neck and gently caressing it while wiping away the tears left there “what do you think of going home? Mm? Would you like that?”</p><p>“Can… can we go?”</p><p>“Of course we can, sweetheart” she allowed herself to call him sweet endearments. She would never dream of doing so with Sherlock in his usual state, but right now Sherlock wasn’t his usual self, so perhaps he needed a different Joan as well “let me take you home, and then we can talk. Yeah?”</p><p>It took a few seconds but Sherlock finally nodded. She nudged Sherlock and both started to get on their feet, but she noticed Sherlock never let go of her coat. So she sighed, again wondering what had happened to bring Sherlock to this state, and took his face in her hands to speak to him directly.</p><p>“Listen, Sherlock. I’m going to talk to Marcus and the Captain, they’ll arrange the precinct so we can leave without being seen. You just wait for me here, all right? Can you do that?”</p><p>He could tell by the haunted look in his glazed eyes that he didn’t like that, but he nodded slowly.</p><p>“Good boy” she whispered with a soft smile. She turned around on her heels and in two steps she was at the door. However, she didn’t feel okay leaving Sherlock like that so soon after his breakdown, so she walked up to him again, gently lifting his chin. He was watching her with fear but she smiled tenderly and placed a kiss on top of his nose “I’ll be back in a second” she whispered encouragingly before turning around and slowly opening the door.</p><p>Thankfully for her, the Captain and Marcus had already vacated the entire corridor and were waiting for them close to the coffee machines, Marcus had a mug of coffee in his hands. She walked towards them in a brisk pace, and when they looked up and saw her headed for them, they seemed a bit calmer now that Joan was handling things.</p><p>“How is he?” Marcus asked, moving the coffee mug in his hand, and looking at her while frowning. She sighed again, and passed her hands through her neat ponytail.</p><p>“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like that before” she whispered, glancing back at the door “I need to take him home. Maybe he’ll calm down a bit more and return to his… normal self.”</p><p>She hesitated in saying those words, since she didn’t really know if this was even normal for Sherlock. Perhaps it was and she hadn’t known until now? Could Sherlock have kept such a secret from her all those years they’d been living and working together? Or was this the first time that happened? If so, <em>what </em>had triggered this response?</p><p>Too many questions unanswered, Joan rubbed at her forehead with one hand, frustrated.</p><p>“It’s okay, Joan. We’ll figure it out” the Captain whispered “when he’s calmer you can leave, we’ve already kept the corridor like that so nobody sees him”</p><p>“Thanks guys” Joan answered, her eyes darting towards the door that hid Sherlock behind the curtains “I have to ask. Are you working on a new case? Did you tell him something to trigger this?”</p><p>She caught the knowing look the Captain and Marcus shared, and she frowned.</p><p>“It’s nothing that Sherlock hasn’t done before. An organized criminal gang, there was a shooting and a man appeared dead in Brooklyn” the Captain explained “if this is what triggered Sherlock’s… <em>whatever</em>, I don’t understand why…”</p><p>Joan sighed. She didn’t understand either, organized crime wasn’t something Sherlock hadn’t dealt with before, it didn’t make any sense. Unless he knew the gang.</p><p>She checked the clock and worried, she’d been away from Sherlock too long. In this state, she’d rather keep close to him, just in case. She looked at the two men standing in front of her.</p><p>“I think it’s best if we go home. I’ll let you know how this turns out, but… please. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but don’t ask Sherlock to consult with this case. I’m not sure what’s going on, but if this is what has caused him to react like that… I don’t think he should be anywhere near the case”</p><p>“I agree. Don’t worry, we can do that” Marcus answered, even when it wasn’t his call to make. He looked at Gregson sheepishly, but he smiled softly and nodded.</p><p>“We’ll keep you posted on the developments. Go home and take care of him” Gregson said “let me make sure the corridors are empty and I’ll let you know” and with that she was dismissed.</p><p>Joan nodded and walked away towards the door. As gently as she could, in order not to startle Sherlock, she opened it up again, and she was greeted by darkness but this time, a pair of big hands took her by the lapels of her coat and dragged her inside, the door closing behind her with a thud. She couldn’t see properly until her eyes got used to the darkness, but she didn’t need to see to notice that Sherlock was once again throwing himself into her arms. This time they were both standing, so it was a bit uncomfortable since Sherlock was lightly hunched forward and Joan kept her back straight, in an attempt to hold him.</p><p>“It’s okay Sherlock. We’re okay” she whispered, allowing her lean arms to surround Sherlock’s waist, noticing how he was trembling slightly “in a second we’ll leave.”</p><p>Not long after there was a knock on the door. Sherlock was still holding on to Joan and tensed at the sound, but Joan shushed in his ear before the door opened just a bit.</p><p>“All clear” it was the Captain. He had the deference of not even attempting to go in, he simply left the door ajar and left.</p><p>“Okay Sherlock. Let’s go home” Joan whispered. She disentangled herself from Sherlock’s arms but allowed him to hold her arm; it seemed he needed the close contact with her. So, with Sherlock by the arm she opened the door further and stepped outside. As promised, the corridor was deserted, and she made for the lift, Sherlock walking next to her looking down at the floor.</p><p>The taxi ride back home was met in silence. Sherlock had skilfully sat close to Joan and was resting his head on her shoulder; he didn’t say another word for the whole ride. Joan was gently caressing one of Sherlock’s hands, which had been on his lap, and was looking at him through the taxi’s rear mirror. She also noticed the cabbie watching them suspiciously, but to be honest, Joan couldn’t care less about what a cabbie thought. She just wanted to get home.</p><p>Her mind was racing to catch up with what she’d seen in front of her. Something had happened, something horrible, to trigger Sherlock to regress to this state. And if she had to guess, she’d say it had something to do with the organized criminal gang the Captain had told her about.</p><p>However, Joan couldn’t help but wonder why he’d reacted like that with this gang. Organized crime wasn’t new to Sherlock, over the years he had faced many gangs including the one that kidnapped her, <em>La Milieu</em>, and he’d even gone to the lengths of striking deals and working with Halcon, the leader of the gang <em>Mara Tres</em>. So, what was different about this particular gang? Had Sherlock encountered it before? Had someone been abducted? Had <em>he </em>been abducted?</p><p>Joan had been a curious student when she was in med school and had skimmed through a few articles about age regression, but the topic hadn’t been something that had caught her attention. She tried to remember the little she knew, and from what she could gather, a lot of people regressed consciously in the safety of their homes or accompanied by a therapist. Traumatic experiences, such as trauma or abuse can trigger unconscious regressions, but those were less heard of. Most of the articles Joan could remember talked about regression as means to decompress and forget stress and problems of adult life, or to deal with traumatic events.</p><p>However, Sherlock’s regression had happened in a precinct full of cops, and without him exerting any control over it, or so it seemed. It stood to reason, then, he’d seen, heard or remembered something so terrible to him that had triggered a full regression to infancy without him being even able to control it.</p><p>Joan sighed internally, not knowing what to do or how to proceed. She’d never known anyone who used regression as a means of escaping reality, and she didn’t know how to best help him. She looked out the window, watching buildings go past a great speed, and left the lights of the New York night take her mind away.</p><p>By the time they got home, Sherlock’s thumb had found its way to his mouth, and he was absentmindedly sucking on it. Joan didn’t comment on the matter; she knew children did that to soothe themselves and she wasn’t about to tell Sherlock off for trying to find comfort. She didn’t know if she should encourage this, but her instincts were telling her to at least allow him to be little. She silently hoped she was up to the task.</p><p>She nudged him and took him by the arm, Sherlock looked at her with sleepy eyes. She made him get out of the taxi, careful not to touch his right hand so that he didn’t think she was somehow forbidding him from sucking his thumb.</p><p>They both went up the stairs of the brownstone and she opened the door, noticing that Sherlock was grabbing her by the coat with his left hand, while his right thumb was firmly inside his mouth and was sucking avidly. She smiled as she opened the door and let Sherlock in, closing the door behind her.</p><p>Mentally thanking Ms Hudson for lighting up the fireplace, she went to the coatrack and took of her coat first, urging Sherlock to do the same. He looked at her but the only thing he did was to let his hand slide from her arm so she could take off her coat. So, after she hang it up on the coatrack, she gently took Sherlock’s coat by the lapels and shrug it off his shoulders. Sherlock understood what she was doing and cooperated, shaking his shoulders to help her take his coat off and allowed her to grab his scarf and hang it on the coatrack, but otherwise didn’t do anything.</p><p>She led him towards the warmth of the living room and made him sit on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Sherlock was incredibly pliable, allowing Joan to take him, lead him or make him do what she deemed fit without question. He was, in many respects, like a child.</p><p>She kneeled down in front of him, and started to unlace his shoes, while she noticed Sherlock looking at her. When they locked eyes, she felt breathless for a moment. He’d seen Sherlock emotional and crying, but never like this. His demeanour was so different than as an adult, his expression open and vulnerable. He still had dry tears in his eyes and cheeks, but he was looking at her with such trusting eyes that she didn’t know how to react to that. She smiled and looked down at his shoes, incapable of holding that look of almost adoration any longer.</p><p>She took longer than expected to unlace his shoes and take them off, leaving them neatly beside the fireplace. She was now thinking of what to do, when Sherlock thought faster.</p><p>“Joanie” he whispered, opening up his arms and reaching towards her. She smiled at Sherlock’s nickname and plopped herself next to him, allowing him to seek refuge in her arms. He wasn’t crying anymore but still, the needy behaviour he was displaying made her realize he was far from okay. From the way he was practically clinging to her, he craved the contact and that was something Sherlock never did. Until now, that is.</p><p>“Will you tell me what happened, Sherlock?” she asked, gently cradling him to her chest and caressing his hair at the back of his head. He shook his head while hiding his face further in the folds of her clothes. Joan sighed; she’d have to wait until he was calmer and out of this headspace to know what was going on.</p><p>Her right hand was still gently petting the back of his head while the left one was drawing circles on his back, in an attempt to bring him comfort. When Sherlock burrowed his face further to her clothes, curling up closer to her, she knew he was likely to fall asleep soon, but they couldn’t stay there the entire night.</p><p>“Sherlock” she gently shook him, calling him to wake him up “come on, let’s get you to bed.”</p><p>“Don’t want to” he whined, shaking his head and grabbing Joan’s clothes a bit more fiercely.</p><p>“Come on Sherlock, you need to sleep” she insisted, and nuzzled his temple with her nose. Then, she had an idea “I can come with you if you want”</p><p>At those words Sherlock took his face away from her clothes and looked up at her. His eyes were still glassy, red and puffy, but held such hope in them, that she couldn’t resist it.</p><p>“Do you want me to take you to bed, Sherlock?” she asked, needing to hear that answer from him to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. She felt she was disregarding every single rule and boundary they had established in their early days of their partnership, and that left her feeling uneasy and as if she was breaking something sacred.</p><p>Sherlock’s demeanour, however, showed her she couldn’t be more wrong. His whole stance changed, almost all the tension going away in a second. He smiled shyly and looked at her with hopeful eyes. And that was all it took for Joan.</p><p>As gently as she could she took Sherlock with her when she got up from the floor, and started to walk towards her bedroom, putting one hand on his lower back to guide him through the brownstone. She stopped quickly in front of Sherlock’s room to grab a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, and kept going towards her own bedroom. When they got there she realized he was in no state to undress himself, she would have to do it, but she didn’t know if that would trigger something in him. She felt a bit apprehensive and embarrassed, but she would try to be as gentle as she knew how to be. He at least deserved that.</p><p>Joan started by unbuttoning and taking his blazer off, and then she started to unbutton his shirt. Sherlock stood there trying to be motionless, but he was bouncing on his feet, as he normally did when he was anxious. Joan could almost feel his energy coming off him. When the shirt was open and she could see his lean torso, Sherlock shrank slightly.</p><p>“Do you want to do it yourself?” she asked, sensing he might be in little space but still didn’t want to be undressed by someone else. The last thing she wanted to do was to make him uncomfortable. He nodded and shrug off his shirt, while Joan left his sweatpants and t-shirt on the bed and went to change her own clothes, putting on her pyjamas.</p><p>“Done” he whispered a few seconds later.</p><p>“Okay” she answered, looking at him with a soft smile “now, time for bed. Come on”</p><p>But Sherlock didn’t move. He was looking at his bed with suspicion, his shoulders squared tense and his jaw clenched.</p><p>“Sherlock?” Joan walked towards him again and placed a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>Big mistake.</p><p>He jumped far away from her reach, and when Joan tried to look at him, his face was scrunched in terror.</p><p>“NO!” he shouted, trying to bolt for the door. Joan was shocked at his rapid change of mood, but reacted fast enough and in two steps she was in front of him, preventing him from leaving.</p><p>“Sherlock, listen…” she tried, putting her hands in front of her in a non-threatening gesture.</p><p>“No! You can’t make me go!” he screamed again, his arms flailing. He turned around, looking for something, and quickly grabbed a pillow and threw it to her “you can’t!”</p><p>Joan ducked enough to be able to dodge the thrown pillow and thought quickly. She didn’t want him to feel scared but he really needed to rest. What could she do? While she tried to think she jumped back to get out of the way of the books and stack of papers that had been resting neatly on the bedside table and now were sent flying in her direction. The lamp would’ve followed if Joan hadn’t taken the few steps that separated them and hadn’t stopped him.</p><p>“Sherlock stop!” she shouted, grabbing him by the wrist. He tensed as soon as she grabbed him though, not the reaction she was expecting. He gasped and tried to pry his hand away from her grasp, pulling with extreme force. But Joan held on.</p><p>“Let me go, stop, you can’t make me, LET ME GO!” Sherlock was desperately struggling against Joan, but in a swift and strong movement, she grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to stop and face her. Then, as quickly as she could to avoid any more struggling, she surrounded Sherlock with her arms.</p><p>“Sherlock calm down. It’s alright…”</p><p>“Don’t make me go… don’t…” he sniffled, his voice gradually sounding smaller and more painful until he finally gave in, his shoulders slumping forward as he struggled to breathe and sobbed against Joan’s shoulder. She kept shushing and whispering sweet word near his ear and rubbing his back with one hand while the other grabbed and played with his short hair, until she felt Sherlock’s cries subsiding a bit.</p><p>This temper tantrum had showed her that he was terrified of sleeping. It could’ve been a nightmare that had terrified him, or something had scared him so much he didn’t want to revisit it in the nightmares he was sure would follow him in his dreams. In any case, there was a real need in the way he clung to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing tightly as he pressed his face against her shoulders, hiding it from view. He showed a need for physical contact and affection Sherlock had never displayed before, and it scared Joan, that meant something was very, very wrong.</p><p>“Sherlock listen” she whispered, trying to call his attention “you’re exhausted and need to sleep. I know you’re scared, but I will stay here with you…”</p><p>“No, no…” Sherlock started, but Joan placated him by caressing the back of his head, she quickly learnt that helped to calm him down.</p><p>“Shhh it’s okay…” she whispered, nuzzling his forehead with her nose before continuing “I know you’re scared but I will be here, okay? Joanie will be here, you won’t be alone.”</p><p>“Promise?” he whispered, his voice tremulous and small. He really seemed like a very small child, Joan had never realized how much until now. She kissed Sherlock’s temple sweetly, her kiss soft and gentle.</p><p>“I promise you, darling” she whispered, smiling softly “and if you have nightmares I’ll wake you up. Okay?”</p><p>Sherlock sniffled and finally nodded, looking at her with hopeful eyes. His expression was still afraid but Joan could see something there, a need to be protected and cared for she had never seen in Sherlock before. She knew she could be very protective of him and something of a mother hen to Sherlock, she had shown it plenty of times with his father Morland Holmes and in many other instances. But this time, when Sherlock was behaving like a small child, she knew her duty of care went beyond what she’d ever imagined.</p><p>Joan cupped his cheek with one hand, wiping away the tears with her thumb and trying to bring her big, little man a bit more peace.</p><p>Very slowly she moved towards the bed, taking Sherlock by the hand to urge him to go with her. She knew he would not budge unless she was already in bed, so she slid under the covers and lay on her back, stretching her arms in a clear invitation and encouraging him to do the same. He went into bed as well, and Joan was surprised to feel him press his body against her, curling up in her embrace.</p><p>She shouldn’t have been though, it was obvious he was terrified of something or someone, and being close to Joan and drawing comfort from her was the only thing that was keeping him sane. Sherlock lay on his side, his neck supported by her arm and his head very close to Joan’s, she could feel his breathing on her cheek, his nose gently brushing against her skin. She could also feel one of his arms over her stomach and one of his legs between her own, she knew he was trying to get as close to her as possible.</p><p>So, she didn’t deny him the cuddle he obviously needed. She twisted her arm beneath his head so her hand could brush against his shoulder, squeezing gently, while she grabbed the hand that was placed on her stomach, reminding him that she was there, he wasn’t alone.</p><p>It didn’t take long for her to feel Sherlock’s breathing become even, his body became heavier and finally, he dozed off to sleep. Joan sighed, she would have to devise a plan for the following morning. She didn’t know if Sherlock would still be in little space, so she had to prepare for any eventuality. And she made a mental note of retrieving any articles and books she could get her hands on about age regression. She sighed and a few minutes later, with worry still plaguing her dreams, she too fell asleep.</p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</p><p> </p><p>She slept until she was violently woken up by a piercing scream. She opened her eyes, disoriented, and heard a rustling noise. Sherlock was still next to her but he was obviously in distress, and without a second thought, she leaned over and turned on her bedside lamp.</p><p>She had the feeling that the image she saw would be forever seared into her mind. Sherlock was attempting to sit up but couldn’t, he had taken all of the sheets and blankets and somehow managed to tangle them around his legs and torso. It was his eyes that Joan felt scared though, they were wide open in alarm and terror, so great she felt shivers down her spine. Tears had already rolled down his cheeks, and was not looking at her, his eyes darting to every place of the room but hers.</p><p>She didn’t say anything, just made shushing sounds while she reached and tried to disentangle him from the bundle trapping him, her hands trembling slightly. As soon as he was free he threw himself to Joan’s arms, shaking uncontrollably and his shoulders heaving, his throat not able to control his sobs any longer.</p><p>“It’s okay Sherlock… it was just a dream, you’re alright…” she whispered, allowing him to cling to her. She’d seen him enough times shirtless and had fought with him enough times to know he was fit and strong, but she never realized how much until now. He was clutching to her with such force that it was hurting her, and while she would never complain because she understood, she knew that right now Sherlock was in no state to control his strength “I’m right here…”</p><p>Sherlock’s sobs were wracking, he had difficulty breathing and Joan’s heart was breaking at the sight.</p><p>“I… I…” he tried, but couldn’t speak.</p><p>“It’s okay Sherlock, you don’t have to – ”</p><p> “N-no, you... you don’t understand!” he finally shouted, pushing her away from him “I-I wet the b-bed” he finally said between sobs. He pushed his knees towards his chest automatically and hid his face between his arms, his cries intensifying.</p><p>Joan stayed still for a second. Had she heard him correctly? She had to, otherwise Sherlock wouldn’t look so mortified as he did now. He looked utterly miserable. Joan patted the mattress and effectively, felt wetness on the sheets. She felt her heart constrict inside her, she hadn’t even thought of that! Of course, Sherlock may have been regressed and in little headspace, but the idea of buying something as obvious as some nappies hadn’t even crossed her mind. This was something she would have to do some research on, but for now, she had a very distressed man on her bed. She didn’t know what to say, but she did what she thought was best: rely on instinct.</p><p>Her hand went to Sherlock’s back, very careful for any indication he didn’t want her touching him, and resumed her shushing sounds while she rubbed his back, up and down.</p><p>“It’s okay” she whispered, applying pressure on his back to remind him of where he was. She moved a bit closer, trying to avoid the wet patch on the sheets, and pulled Sherlock to her “it’s okay Sherlock, accidents happen”</p><p>“But… but not to adults!” he whined. He wasn’t in little space anymore but he wasn’t behaving like the adult Sherlock she knew either, and he didn’t seem to understand what was happening. She knew what Sherlock was like when he didn’t understand something, and not grasping what was going on in his mind was terrifying to him “w-what’s wrong with m-me?”</p><p>“Nothing’s wrong, Sherlock. It’s alright, these things happen” she lied. She didn’t like lying to Sherlock but he was upset and was in no state to have a serious conversation about this yet “we’ll talk about all of this tomorrow. For now, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” she added, her voice reassuring and comforting.</p><p>Joan got out of the bed and helped Sherlock, leading him towards the bathroom. She tried to avoid looking at the very obvious wet patch on his sweatpants around his groin, it must’ve felt really uncomfortable. She quickly turned on the hot water on the bathtub and started to fill it in. Then, she sighed and turned around, about to tell Sherlock to have a bath while she changed the sheets.</p><p>When she did turn around, however, she was momentarily taken aback. Sherlock had sat on the toilet and resumed the position he had taken on the bed, with his knees against his chest. The difference now was that his right-hand thumb had found a way towards his mouth again, and he was sucking on it. His eyes were half-closed, still red-rimmed and wet from crying, and they were looking at a fixed point on the bathtub. Empty, vacant. He looked like a small, miserable child, and she was surprised of how quickly he’d fallen into a state of infancy. But this time, she knew what to do.</p><p>“Come on, Sherlock” she said, taking his left hand and pulling him up “let’s get you out of these sweatpants”</p><p>He had fallen silent, only the occasional sniffle would come out, but complied to Joan’s request and got up from the toilet. Joan took the seam of his T-shirt and whispering “put your arms up, please” she pulled up and took it off. She then grabbed the elastic band of his sweatpants and pulled down, discarding them for the next load of laundry along with the bed sheets. She gulped once when she looked at Sherlock’s boxer-briefs, she knew she would have to take them off too and felt apprehensive about it. This was obviously something very intimate, and a part of it felt wrong to Joan, to see Sherlock in such a state.</p><p>However, she shook her head and cleared her mind. Sherlock needed her and she wasn’t going to chicken out. So, she grabbed the elastic band of his boxer-briefs, careful not to touch anything wet, and pulled down as well. Sherlock shivered violently, and she could see he had goosebumps on his skin, so she urged him to get into the bathtub, which by now was almost full with warm, inviting water.</p><p>She knew baths could be very relaxing to babies and small children, and Sherlock was still upset so she was going to take the opportunity to help him calm down. She made Sherlock sit down on the bathtub and rest his back against it.</p><p>“Cold!” he shouted when his back touched the back of the tub, and jumped. Joan smiled and reached to open one of the cupboards, to fetch a small towel. She then put it in the water to get it wet and warm, and then placed it against the back of the bathtub.</p><p>“Lean back, darling” Joan whispered “it won’t be cold now”</p><p>Sherlock did, and Joan could swear she had heard him sigh. She took the shower head and started to move it around Sherlock’s still dry shoulders and neck, then she gently moved it towards his face and head. Sherlock closed his eyes on instinct and Joan’s hand hovered around his face, clearing the excess water out of his eyes so he could open them.</p><p>When he was completely wet she poured a generous quantity of shampoo on her hand, and started to clean Sherlock’s hair. Her movements were slow and soothing, and she could sense Sherlock’s stiffness melt away with the warm water. Not long afterwards she poured soap on a sponge and started to rub it Sherlock’s body with it. She didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable so she made a quick job of it, but still made sure to get rid of all the urine in his parts and legs.</p><p>When she was done, Sherlock seemed much more relaxed, and had a soft smile on his lips. She grabbed a handful of bubbles and threw them in the air, and Sherlock giggled delightfully when they fell all over his face.</p><p>“Bubbles!” he shouted, excited. Joan fought a smile but she couldn’t, this Sherlock was actually adorable.</p><p>“Honey, why don’t you play with the bubbles while I change the bedsheets?” she suggested.</p><p>Sherlock stood still for a moment, and Joan was afraid she had taken a misstep. Had she said something wrong?</p><p>“Come back?” Sherlock asked, his voice sounding unsure, small. He was using very basic English, unlike the adult version of Sherlock, and this was something Joan wasn’t expecting. She was reminded, again, of the urgency of reading as much as she could on age regression. Hopefully, next morning she’d be able to.</p><p>“Yes darling” she smiled and tousled his still wet her with her fingers “I’ll come back and fetch you when I’m done. Okay?”</p><p>“Okay” he agreed, and started to take bubbles in his hand to then throw them in the air again and giggle. Joan smiled, if this was what it meant for Sherlock to regress, she was glad she was able to witness it.</p><p>She made a quick job of changing the bedsheets, she didn’t want to let Sherlock too much time to play. She knew a lot about how to deal with an overstimulated Sherlock and he was hard to deal with as an adult, she didn’t want to deal with a tired but overstimulated little Sherlock too. He needed rest, and she needed it too, she could felt exhaustion in her aching joints and muscles, and her sore eyes as as well.</p><p>When she came back to the bathroom the bubbles were nearly gone, so she smiled and told Sherlock to get up from the tub. She grabbed the biggest, softest towel they had, used it to wrap him with it, and made him sit on the toilet while she took another towel and started to ruffle his hair with it, applying pressure on strands of hair to make sure it was getting dry. She did the same with his body, not taking the towel off until she was sure he was completely dry. </p><p>On the way up the stairs she had gone to Sherlock’s bedroom and had grabbed another pair of boxer-briefs, sweatpants and a T-shirt, and he used them to get him dressed. Joan silently prayed that he didn’t wet the bedsheets again, and took mental note of buying other supplies such as a dummy along with some diapers if this was going to be a normal occurrence.</p><p>“All done! My baby’s all clean and smells great” Joan praised him when he took him by the hand to lead him to the bedroom. He gave her a sleepy smile, and Joan returned it “now let’s go to sleep”</p><p>Sherlock was already half-asleep by the way they got to Joan’s bedroom, she resumed her position in bed, laying on her side, and invited Sherlock in. This time, though, she didn’t wait until he curled up against her, as soon as he had lain on the bed with her back against her she moved closer, until her chest collided with her back. Her arm went around his stomach and her face rested against the nape of his neck, inhaling the fresh smell of his shampoo. Sherlock sighed against her and cuddled up a bit closer to her, and she smiled.</p><p>“Good night, Sherlock” she whispered, kissing the skin of his neck.</p><p>“G’night Joanie” came his sleepy reply, and a few seconds later, he was dozing off.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock and Joan have a conversation about what happened last night, and perhaps give age regression a go.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hiii dear readers!<br/>Here I come with the second chapter of this WIP! It's been quite an eventful couple of days and I have a lot of the story written, but it isn't finished so I can't promise I won't go back and change stuff as I go along.<br/>Also, as I'm sure you've noticed, this fic isn't beta'ed, therefore there will probably be mistakes.</p><p>ENJOY!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following morning Joan woke up slowly to the sun rays on her eyes. She moaned and changed position, wanting to catch a bit more sleep, when she noticed she was alone in her bed.</p><p>All of a sudden, everything came down to her, and her eyes opened wide, confused. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, the spot he had occupied during the night was empty and cold, he’d been up for quite some time. Over the night she had woken up a few more times, each time she felt Sherlock pressing his body against her, like he didn’t want any part of him apart from her. She sighed and debated what to do.</p><p>On the one hand, she wanted to grab her laptop and search on the internet about regression and adult babies, wanting to soak up all the information she could get her hands on to try and understand what had happened to Sherlock and how to best help him. On the other hand, she wanted to see where Sherlock was and make sure he was doing alright.</p><p>She decided the latter was the best course of action. She was still worried about him, and the fact that he hadn’t woken her up with breakfast and clothes as he regularly did could mean anything.</p><p>She got out of bed and strode to the bathroom to clean herself a bit and brush her hair before she went downstairs for breakfast. When she got in the kitchen Sherlock was already there. She stood near the door, observing him, he was baking. That was never a good sign, Sherlock making Yorkshire puddings always meant he was bothered by something.</p><p>“Are you going to stand there all morning or are you actually going to come in?” Sherlock said without even turning around. His voice sounded a bit aggravated.</p><p>“Good morning to you too” Joan said when Sherlock had caught her, and she walked towards the coffee maker. She had noticed Sherlock didn’t seem to be in the mood, but she pretended she didn’t anyway “did you sleep well?”</p><p>“I did, thanks” he answered curtly.</p><p>Sherlock was avoiding her eyes, his stance was tense and he whisked the eggs with a bit more force than necessary.</p><p>“Sherlock, you’re baking, what are you – ”</p><p>“The Captain hasn’t said anything” he said anxiously, interrupting her “I’ve tried calling but he hasn’t been answering me, and neither has Marcus” his voice sounded annoyed now and there was a tone of anger there.</p><p>“Huh yeah, I told them not to call you” Joan said hesitantly.</p><p>Sherlock suddenly stilled, his whole body tense. He let the whisk fall inside the bowl, splashing eggs all over his apron and the sleeves of his shirt, but he didn’t seem to care.</p><p>“You… did what?” he asked with a voice terribly low and a bit threatening.</p><p>“Yeah I told them not to call you. Sherlock, I…”</p><p>“And why would you do that? We had a case, a very important case, and you’re telling me that –”</p><p>“Yes, I am!” Joan exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips and turning her body around so she was standing in front of him. He was taller, even more so now that she was only wearing her slippers, but she didn’t cower before his icy stare “I felt it was the right thing to do considering how you were last night!”</p><p>“How I… how dare you use this against me? Did you have fun seeing me in that state? You did, didn’t you?!” he yelled.</p><p>“What?” Joan bit back “you think I did this out of spite?”</p><p>“Well why wouldn’t you let me consult on a case that – ”</p><p>“Because it obviously affected you and can’t deal with it right now!” Joan roared, and Sherlock was stunned.</p><p>Then she realized she was yelling and she didn’t want that. What happened last night had been strange for both of them, and they needed to talk about it, but not like this.</p><p>“I’m sorry I yelled” she whispered, looking down to the floor and avoiding his eyes, but she could see Sherlock’s shoes in front of her. He was also silent and seemed to be fighting to regain control again.</p><p>She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart, and when she looked at Sherlock again she kept her voice down. She knew yelling wouldn’t solve anything with him and tried to push her frustration deep inside her and speak calmly “Sherlock, last night something happened to you, I’ve never seen you like that before. It obviously had a lot to do with the case, and I was worried sick about you. So, I made the decision and asked them not to call you until we had talked and know what’s going on.”</p><p>Sherlock turned around, giving her his back, and walked to the door. He didn’t leave the kitchen, though. He stood there, with his arms to the sides of his body and his hands clutched in fists.</p><p>“I was only trying to protect you” Joan continued, this time a mere whisper “I was trying to spare you being even more hurt. I thought you knew I don’t like seeing you in pain, how you could think I was doing this on purpose, I –”</p><p>“I’m sorry” he blurted. Joan stopped speaking and looked at him, seeing his squared shoulders and straight back “I shouldn’t have said that, I know you’re the last person to want to hurt me, I’m sorry. I don’t… know what’s got into me”</p><p>She heard him take a deep breath, and she walked towards him, very slowly. She placed a hand on his back, heard his breath hitch momentarily, but she felt how he melted at her touch and how he leaned into it.</p><p>“It’s okay” she whispered, rubbing his back to calm him down a bit more “it will be okay”</p><p>She kept rubbing his back until he seemed calmer and his breathing had returned to normal. She looked at his hands, clear indication of his anxiety state, and they were unclenched for once.</p><p>“Why don’t we eat breakfast? Then we’ll talk”</p><p>Sherlock nodded and turned around again, this time facing her. She let her arm fall to her side and gave him a lopsided smile, convincing him to go get their breakfast ready. He went towards the counter, discarding the bowl with whisked eggs he’d been preparing before, and started to gather the cereal and milk for both of them while Joan got their coffees ready. They sat and ate in silence, it was a bit tense with anticipation, they both knew the conversation awaiting them wasn’t going to be easy. But neither of them didn’t want to leave, in spite of it all, they wanted each other’s company. Joan hoped this would be enough for the discussion that would come later.</p><p>After breakfast they both cleaned up and naturally walked towards the library, where a lot of their discussions happened. Sherlock sat down on the maroon sofa, and Joan would’ve sat down on the armchair opposite but she didn’t want to be too far away, so she sat down next to him, her body turned slightly so she was facing him.</p><p>He sat there, deep in thought for a while, and Joan let him until he seemed to come back.</p><p>“Do you know what happened to you last night?” Joan asked, her voice low and soft so as not to startle him after the stretched silence.</p><p>He nodded briefly, although his brows were furrowed in concentration.</p><p>“It seems I… regressed to a state of childhood for a while” he said. Joan expected him to say more, but he fell silent, and she nodded.</p><p>“Has this happened before?” she asked, but Sherlock shook his head. She already had her suspicions, if it had happened before he wouldn’t have been so confused last night. He would’ve known what was happening.</p><p>“I’ve… I had heard about this before, but I thought it was foolish, particularly if it was done on purpose. My childhood wasn’t a happy one and had no desire to return to that state of… vulnerability” his voice was sorrowful and there was an undertone of controlled anger there. Not directed at Joan, she knew, but at his father, his brother, the school bullies and everyone who made of Sherlock’s childhood a nightmare.</p><p>A fleeting thought crossed Joan’s mind that almost made her sick. How alone Sherlock must have been, how lonely and hurt he must have felt, to not want to be a child again. She felt her heart constrict and her eyes almost welled up at the thought of a small, crying Sherlock with nobody to hold him and calm him, and she almost turned around to find Morland and kill him herself. How dare he? He had a great son with amazing abilities, he was special in his unique ways, and he dared neglect him until he felt that vulnerability was a weakness. She clenched her fists and tried to control her anger, it would serve neither of them now.</p><p>“I don’t know why it happened, Watson, but I assure you it won’t happen again. I’m sorry if I inconvenienced you” Sherlock whispered. He seemed genuinely sorrowful, and she felt even sadder.</p><p>“Don’t say that. I’m glad I was there to help you, and I would do it again” she tried to smile but it didn’t quite reach her eyes “this happened because something triggered it. I know very little, but I know that sometimes, traumatic events or experiences can trigger a regression without the person being aware or in control of it. Something happened last night that made you regress without being able to control it.”</p><p>She glanced at Sherlock and was anxious to see him so tense, he obviously wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. She sighed and reached to place one hand on his forearm, not even registering that before yesterday, physical touch was something they rarely resorted to when comforting each other. She heard his gasp slightly and when she looked up to him, his eyes were fixed on the place her hand connected with the skin on his forearm.</p><p> “It’s alright Sherlock. You don’t have to tell me everything right now. You can do that when you’re ready” she whispered with a calming tone “I just need to know why this case is upsetting you so much”</p><p>“W-why do you want to k-know?” she could’ve sworn she heard him sniffle, but even though his face was scrunched up, there were no tears in his eyes.</p><p>“Because I want to help you. As I did last night, and as I always do”</p><p>Sherlock was struggling to keep his breathing under control, and all of a sudden, she grabbed Joan’s hand and squeezed it tightly. His eyes fell close as well, and he tried to take deep breaths.</p><p>“It’s okay…” she shushed, allowing her thumb to draw circles on the back of his hand “it’s alright, take your time…”</p><p>She kept shushing and whispering to him, she didn’t know how long they sat there, close to each other and holding hands, until Sherlock seemed to be calm enough.</p><p>“They kidnapped me once, long ago” he whispered, his voice cracking “I was their hostage for a few days before the police found me. I’ve… never been able to hear their name without th-thinking about the things t-they did to me…”</p><p>Joan was stunned. Now she understood why this wasn’t like any other street gang crime they had dealt with before, these people had personally hurt Sherlock before, so much it seemed that he was permanently scarred by it. Joan was dying to know what they’d done to Sherlock, but tears were already falling down his cheeks as he hiccupped, trying to control his sobs, and she decided not to push him. He had said enough for now.</p><p>She had to resist against a sudden urge to hold him tightly against her, and she surprised herself for her thought. Last night it had felt… right. As if she was meant to cuddle Sherlock all along, as if they hadn’t spent the entirety of their relationship almost avoiding physical touch to help each other.</p><p>Last night Sherlock had needed Joan’s closeness, he had needed to feel her lean but strong arms around him and hide his face against her neck. And Joan couldn’t lie to herself. Truthfully, she had felt her heart break at the sight of Sherlock’s infantile crying, but his sobs had stirred something in her, a nurturing and caring side she knew was there but was never as strong as it had been the previous night.</p><p>Holding Sherlock and providing him comfort when he needed it had been very special to her, but she didn’t know if that was what he wanted right now. The Sherlock of last night had <em>wanted </em>her to hold him, had pressed himself against her, but adult Sherlock had never sought her physical closeness, she didn’t think it would be welcome now. So, for the time being, she contented herself by holding his hands, squeezing them and brushing his thumb against the back of his palm while she whispered to him.</p><p>Sherlock, however, seemed to sense her predicament, and without looking at Joan in the eye, he let his head fall forward until it rested against Joan’s shoulder. He didn’t press his body against hers like he’d done the previous night, but he did squeeze her hands and pressed his face against her shoulder, wetting her t-shirt while he let his tears roll down his cheeks. He was crying silently, only his shoulders heaving from time to time, but he hid his face against her clothes and breathed in, trying to steel himself.</p><p>If Joan was surprised by Sherlock’s action, though, she didn’t let it show, as she was mostly relieved her comfort was welcome. One of her hands disentangled itself from Sherlock’s long and strong fingers and went towards the back of his head, gently rubbing the recently trimmed hair while she shushed close to his ear, giving him time to calm down.</p><p>At the back of her mind, though, she started to think. Now she knew what had triggered Sherlock’s regression. She didn’t know what the gang had done to him, but it was obviously horrible enough to provoke such an extreme reaction. It could’ve been anything, from torture to sleep deprivation to (she sincerely hoped not) rape, and she tried to suppress a shiver as she imagined what could’ve happened to Sherlock in the hands of those bastards.</p><p>Then, she thought of something. She remembered how pliable Sherlock had been, how he looked at her when she was unlacing his shoes, how full of hope his eyes were when she suggested they slept together. How he had openly giggled when playing with bubbles, the innocent look in his eyes. How adorable he looked when sucking on his thumb.</p><p>“Sherlock… would you like to repeat what we did last night?” Joan asked, still caressing his hair. Sherlock moved his face away from her shoulder and looked at her in the eyes, a mixture of shock and suspicion in his eyes.</p><p>“Why do you ask?” he asked, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt while his eyes closed halfway and he drew his brows together.</p><p>“Well, I want to know. Did you feel… comfortable doing that? Did it help?”</p><p>Sherlock fell silent, he seemed to be thinking about it.</p><p>“It did” he eventually agreed, his cheeks blushing with a slight pink shade “having you there to hold me, giving me what I needed even if I didn’t know what it was… it didn’t resemble what I remember from my childhood, if anything, it makes me think of how I must’ve felt when… my mother held me as a baby”</p><p>Sherlock sniffled, his mother was always a sore subject and Joan felt flattered she could give Sherlock the same calm and comfort as his mother, all those years ago.</p><p>“I was also pleasantly surprised of how much we can say to each other without words, only with touches…” he squeezed her hand to make his point “and it felt comfortable. Like we were exactly where we needed to be, like nothing could harm me if you were with me. I thank you for that, Watson.”</p><p>“You’re more than welcome” she answered, and her smile grew wider “and if it felt so good. Would you be willing to try again? I think it can actually help you deal with… all of this” she added.</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Well, as I say I don’t know much about it. But I know that some people use regression to forget the stress of adult life, to go back to their childhood when there were no problems”</p><p>“My childhood was full of trouble and not without its problems, as you’re well aware, Watson”</p><p>“I know that. But this doesn’t have to repeat the same patterns as your own childhood, and you’ve seen it” Joan answered. She didn’t want to push him, but she also honestly thought that this could be the way Sherlock could deal with the obvious trauma “you’ll have me for starters, so it will be different. No Mycroft, no Morland, no bullies… just you and me. Think of it as a second chance to be a child, to experience all those nice things again, and to work through some traumatic events in a new way”</p><p>Sherlock nodded, he seemed to be considering it at least.</p><p>“Just you and me?” he asked</p><p>“Yes, just us. You don’t have to feel embarrassed to do what you need to do, I’ll be here to help you, just as I was last night” Joan promised. She smiled reassuringly and felt Sherlock nod his head.</p><p>“I want to repeat what we did” his voice barely a whisper, Joan moved a bit closer to him, her hand never leaving his “I want to… be held by you again, and forget I was ever an adult with responsibilities and problems. But… I’m scared”</p><p>Joan nodded, applying pressure on his hand to remind him that he wasn’t alone, she was there with him and she would be every step of this new path they were unveiling together.</p><p>“Let me suggest something” she said, seeing as Sherlock seemed to be deep in thought “don’t decide anything right now, think of this as an experiment. To do an experiment you first need to do some research and gather data, right?” Sherlock nodded, and she kept on “then let’s do this. We’ll do some thorough research about regression, and then we can discuss our findings and whether you’re willing to try again.”</p><p>“Would you?” he asked, and Joan realized he hadn’t meant to ask that question, it had slipped. He cleared his throat, blushing slightly, and clarified “try again, I mean?”</p><p>Joan stopped to think for a bit, giving it some thought. Then she nodded vehemently.</p><p>“Of course, I would” she smiled “you say you liked being held and comforted and would like to do it again. And I want you to know that the desire you had to be held was the same desire I had for holding you and protecting you. It was worrying to see you so scared and crying so much, but you actively looked for comfort with me and I liked giving you what you needed. I think this can be good for you, for both of us, if you let it, and I’m glad to be the one to share it with you. If you want me”</p><p>“Of course, Watson” he answered, giving her a slight but soft smile “always”</p><p>In the end, they agreed to leave it be for the moment and gather information about it and come back with their results and thoughts when they were ready. Both of them, but mostly Sherlock, had a lot to think about. Joan knew she was willing to care for Sherlock if he asked it of her. She didn’t know why, but the night before she’d felt an enormous sense of protection towards Sherlock, she wanted to care for him and make sure he was okay, physically and emotionally. She felt happy when she cuddled Sherlock, and to be honest with herself, now that she knew what it was like she didn’t want it to stop. She would be what she needed him to be, though, no question about that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was quite cold in New York, Joan’s red and frozen nose could attest to that. A few days had passed since the incident at the station, she had received a few calls from Gregson but the last one had left her uneasy: the murder of the man in Brooklyn had left no clues, there were no new leads and the case was put on hold, so she had gone running for a while to clear her mind. Sherlock had been on the roof, tending to his bees, but had asked her what she wanted for dinner before she left, presumably to order some take-away. Gregson had suggested that perhaps it was time Sherlock came back to the case, she could see he was clearly desperate for a breakthrough, but Joan wasn’t sure he was ready yet, so she’d hang up the phone with the promise of talking to him sometime soon. They still had a conversation pending anyway.</p><p>She had spent the last few days researching about adult babies and age regression, about the role of a caregiver and possible attitudes of littles, and had seen lots of pictures of adult babies with their pacifiers, nappies and bottles. She’d learnt that most people who regressed had a preferred age range, but if something happened to them and they had difficulties processing it, or they were too greatly affected by it, they could move between different stages of infancy.</p><p>She imagined Sherlock in nappies and with a dummy in his mouth, instead of the thumb he had used that night, and she couldn’t deny it stirred something in her heart. She had never thought of being a mother, she guessed it would come at some point down the road, but she never actively searched for it. Now, she wasn’t exactly picturing a son, she was picturing herself as the caregiver for her friend and partner Sherlock. Nobody else. She promised him and herself that she wouldn’t push him, but if she was honest with herself, she would be disappointed if, in the end, Sherlock thought this was too overwhelming.</p><p>She sighed and did some stretches on the stairs of the brownstone before opening the door and getting in. When she did, the house smelled deliciously of Thai food. She felt her stomach rumble and closed the door behind her with a soft thud, taking off her earbuds and stopping the music on her phone.</p><p>“Sherlock!” she yelled while she took off her hat and gloves and left them neatly in the foyer.</p><p>“Kitchen!” she heard Sherlock yell back, and she walked towards the room. The closer he got to the kitchen the stronger the smell was, and when she got there, she saw that Sherlock was already placing the food in trays. She was about to pinch a few noodles with her fingers but Sherlock batted her hand away.</p><p>“It isn’t ready yet!” he exclaimed, gently admonishing her, but his lips had a smile Joan could consider adorable.</p><p>“Okay, okay, but it smells delicious!” she said, taking leaning over the food to inhale the wondrous smell. No wonder Thai was her favourite “give me five minutes to take a quick shower and I’ll be right back”</p><p>“Make it quick, some of us are hungry!” she heard Sherlock shout. She ran up the stairs and took a quick shower, probably one of the fastest she’d ever taken, but she really was ravenous.</p><p>While she dried off with her fluffy towel her mind went back to Sherlock. She couldn’t say their relationship had changed, not exactly, and it wasn’t something she could name or put her finger on. But in the last few days she felt an undeniable shift in their relationship, something intangible and yet that was there. They had always felt comfortable around each other, they understood each other’s processes and timelines, and they gave each other space to process stuff, knowing that the other would be there to discuss them whenever they were ready. Now, all of that was still present, but there was an element of physicality that wasn’t there before.</p><p>It’s not like they were now hugging all the time, not even close. But somehow the boundary they had both put up between them of no physical contact except strictly necessary was disappearing, and now casual brushes were much more common. And what was more surprising was that they initiated the contact more or less the same number of occasions; perhaps Sherlock initiating a few more than Joan. That was shocking in and of itself for Joan, who found herself hesitating of whether her touch would be welcome until Sherlock did it and held her hand, or placed his head on her shoulder. Before the incident, they left plenty of personal space even when doing regular activities like watching TV or reading, but now the separation was almost non-existent. They regularly sat down together on the sofa, close to each other and most of the times holding hands or resting against each other’s bodies, drawing comfort from their closeness. And Joan felt content with this shift, she felt happy.</p><p>She went downstairs when she was ready, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a fluffy hoodie over an old concert t-shirt, and got into the kitchen. Sherlock was still in the kitchen and was now setting the table with a pair of glasses and a jug full of cold water. The Thai food still smelled delicious and Joan sat down next to Sherlock, tucking into the food.</p><p>However, Sherlock was… restless. He ate his food at a much more leisurely pace than her, but she could see him bounce slightly in his seat, and he couldn’t keep his hands still. His brows were furrowed, and he kept stealing glances at her when she thought she wasn’t looking.</p><p>“Come on, out with it, Sherlock” she said after she finished eating and she’d given him time to finish his plate too.</p><p>“Out with what?”</p><p>“Are you seriously going to make me ask?” she asked “you’re restless, something is bothering you and you’re anxious to tell me but don’t know how. Come on, just say it”</p><p>Sherlock sighed; he definitely couldn’t be considered the only consulting detective in the world anymore. Joan knew him inside and out, so there was no point in hiding anything from her.</p><p>He put his hand on his breast pocket and took something from it, which he placed on the table. It was a pacifier and it was white with drawings of small bees all over it. It was very… <em>Sherlock</em>. Joan couldn’t deny it, she felt a pang inside her when she imagined Sherlock momentarily with the dummy in his mouth, she really wanted it.</p><p>“I was wondering if… we could play tonight. Together” Sherlock whispered. He sounded unsure, insecure. So different from the usual Sherlock. She looked at the pacifier on the table and back at Sherlock, and then she smiled.</p><p>“Of course we can, sweetheart” she agreed.</p><p>Her hand moved of its own accord and soon it was on Sherlock’s back, rubbing it up and down with ease.</p><p>So, Sherlock had finally accepted. This was a big step for both of them, and she would have to proceed with caution, but for now all she wanted was to have little Sherlock in her arms again. She smiled at him and was amazed to see how Sherlock’s entire stance changed when she accepted his offer. His shoulders relaxed, his expression turned into a more childish one, forgetting the lines of his forehead and producing a wide, beautiful grin that reached his eyes. Sherlock was happy he was there with her, and his demeanour spoke volumes.</p><p>She took the pacifier in her hands and examined it, looking more closely at the bees. It was just too good to be true. She smiled and handed the pacifier to Sherlock, who instead of picking it up with his fingers, simply reached over and captured it between his lips.</p><p>Joan watched as he made a few tentative sucks, trying to discern if it was going to be of his taste or not, and seemed satisfied when he rested his back against the chair and left out a soft sigh, sucking the pacifier contently. Joan smiled and let her hand pet Sherlock’s hair, it was short and soft, and the hairline had receded a bit since they’d known each other, but it was nice to the touch. And she’d learnt that having his hair petted and smoothed helped in calming him down. He didn’t need calming down now, but he still leaned into the touch, and he seemed to enjoy it.</p><p>Suddenly Sherlock got up from his seat and took her hand, pulling her away from the kitchen and towards the stairs. She followed him, allowing him to take her to his bedroom. When she opened the door, she was surprised.</p><p>On top of the bed there was a wooden box with what she suspected was toys, a few plastic bags with different bottles and bibs, and a package of what seemed to be adult-sized diapers. There were also a couple of infantile pyjamas (one with stars and galaxies and another one with drawings of a microscope), several pairs of fluffy socks, a couple of onesies and a few children books.</p><p>“As usual, you’ve gone the extra mile, darling” she commented, amused. She had told him to take this as an experiment, and Sherlock was nothing but thorough with his experiments. She couldn’t say she was surprised, but it was a lot to take in, and she hoped Sherlock didn’t want them to use everything tonight. He was already sucking on his bee pacifier and seemed to be content with it.</p><p>“What do you say we change you out of this clothes and put you into these warm pyjamas?” she asked, taking both of the pyjamas in her hands and presenting them to Sherlock, who had sat down on the bed next to all the paraphernalia “what do you say? Stars or microscopes?”</p><p>Sherlock pointed at the starry pyjamas, she had to say they were very nice and soft to the touch, and they were black with the stars and planets the only colours in them.</p><p>“Good choice” she praised, and Sherlock smiled at her through his dummy. She then proceeded to make a bit of space for Sherlock to lay down so she could undress him. She had been reading about how to proceed in doing this, and she knew perfectly how to undress a man, but this was nothing like she’d experienced before. For starters, all the times she had undressed a fully-grown man it was either because they were in ER and about to die, or because she was about to engage in sexual activities. Now, here she was, unbuttoning his friend’s shirt not because he was going to have sex with him, but because she was going to put him in child pyjamas and was going to cuddle him to sleep.</p><p>Sherlock kept perfectly still, watching her with curiosity while she took of his blazer and shirt, and then laid him back again to take his shoes, socks and trousers off. It seemed that he was more curious than anxious, and he let Joan fumble with the package of diapers before she pulled one of the box and opened it. However, when Joan yanked his underwear without warning he let out a sound that resembled closely a whine, and Joan realized that he probably was cold, apart from surprised.</p><p>“I’m sorry darling, I’ll be done in no time” she cooed. She touched his waist and he lifted his lower back so she could expertly slide the diaper under his bum, and pulled the tapes securely against his lower stomach. She touched it here and there, making sure it wasn’t going to leak but it wasn’t too tight either, and when she was satisfied she grabbed the pyjama pants and put them on, again asking Sherlock to lift his bum so she’d be able to place the pants properly.</p><p>Then, she took his hands and pulled up so he was sitting, and he put the pyjama shirt over his head, helping him get his arms through the right holes.</p><p>“Alrighty, all done! It wasn’t that hard, was it?” she said, and Sherlock shook his head with a smile.</p><p>He hadn’t stopped sucking his pacifier all this time, and while Joan was taking everything from the bed and putting it on the floor, she saw him stifle a yawn and rub his eyes tiredly.</p><p>“Oh, is my baby sleepy?” she cooed. She hated the infantile voices most of the women she’d met used to talk to their babies, and she would never use that tone with Sherlock, even if it was little Sherlock. But she definitely could change the way she spoke to her friend, after all, what she now had in front of her was a small child that seemed to be very sleepy indeed.</p><p>“No, ‘m not!” little Sherlock complained, rubbing his eyes a bit more. But Joan just smiled.</p><p>“Sure you aren’t” she whispered “tell you what. Let me go to the bathroom, and while I do that, why don’t you choose one of the books? I’ll read to you before bed”</p><p>“Okay” he relented “but no sleeping!”</p><p>“Okay, no sleeping” she agreed mischievously, knowing he’d be snoring in no time.</p><p>By the time she came back to Sherlock’s bedroom, he was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, and had one book in each hand. He seemed to be trying to decide which book to choose. On his left hand, he held <em>The Tale of Peter Rabbit </em>by Beatrix Potter, and in the other, he held <em>The Christmasaurus </em>by Tom Fletcher.</p><p>“You can’t decide, darling?” Joan whispered behind him when she saw his indecision. He shook his head, seemingly disappointed he couldn’t even decide on a book “let me help you. Do you remember when Christmas is?”</p><p>“In two months” Sherlock answered around his pacifier. Good, he didn’t lose the notion of time when he went into little space, Joan was happy to note.</p><p>“Great. The Christmasaurus talks about Christmas. What you have to decide is: do you want to read it now and know the story when Christmas arrives, or do you want to read it when it is Christmas?”</p><p>Sherlock took a moment to think, and he took the pacifier off to speak.</p><p>“I want to read it at Christmas” he answered, placing the dummy back in his mouth and sucking on it again.</p><p>“We have our winner, then” she answered, and picked up the book Sherlock was handing her, leaving the Christmasaurus on the floor along with the other books he’d bought.</p><p>She took the covers and made Sherlock get into bed, tucking him in before she climbed to the other side of the bed. As soon as she sat down with her back against the bedpost and her legs spread in front of her, Sherlock curled up to her, passing an arm around her stomach and resting his head against her chest, close to her breasts. She knew he could hear her heartbeat that way, and she waited for a few more minutes while she held him and caressed the back of his head, before she opened the book and started reading.</p><p>“Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail and Peter. They lived with their Mother…” Joan started to read aloud.</p><p>It had been a long time since she had read a book aloud, let alone a children’s book, but as she kept reading and kept changing her voice to fit each of the rabbits in the book, she couldn’t deny she felt her heart swell up with love and pride. Here she was, in Sherlock’s bedroom, cuddling him while she read a book and he wore a diaper and was sucking on a dummy. And nothing felt out of sorts or awkward to her, deep down it was like they had always meant to be like this.</p><p>When she turned the page for the third time she realized Sherlock was already asleep. She smiled while she closed the book and reached to leave it on the nightstand, making sure to not move too much to not wake him up. She then managed to lay him completely on the bed and rest his head against the pillow instead of her, smoothing his hair on his forehead.</p><p>“Good night, Sherlock” Joan whispered before she leaned over and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. She was wondering whether to go to her bedroom or sleep with him, when he moved and curled up closer to her, grabbing her pyjamas between his fingers.</p><p>“I wove you, ‘oanie” he whispered with the pacifier between his lips before letting out a soft sigh, and he was effectively out to the world. Joan felt her heart jump and melt into mush. Joan was aware she was the most important person in Sherlock’s life, much the same as he was the most important person in her life, but they never declared their love in such an innocent, shy way. The way he’d whispered the words, badly pronounced because of his sleepy state and the pacifier in his mouth, almost made Joan shed a few tears of emotion.</p><p>“I love you too, baby” she answered back, whispering. She wasn’t even sure Sherlock had heard it, but she felt the need to say it back.</p><p>She smiled sweetly, since Sherlock was grabbing her pyjamas it was obvious she wasn’t going anywhere. She wasn’t bothered in the slightest by sleeping next to Sherlock, in fact, she had been looking forward to it. So, settling a bit further in the mattress she closed her eyes, feeling Sherlock’s soft snores against her face and hearing the noise he made when suckling his pacifier</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joan and Sherlock begin investigating the criminal organization, and we learn a bit more about what happened to Sherlock.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hiii dear readers!<br/>Thank you for your support on this story, I appreciate every single comment and kudo you leave, and every single person who reads even if you don't say so! Especial thanks to @MusicalProstituteMyDear for supporting me with this silly story &lt;3</p><p>I wasn't really planning on having a plot for this fic, but things escalated quickly and now I have one that explains why Sherlock needs to regress in the first place. Please be advised, in this chapter we will see Sherlock battling his urges to being little, and we'll know more about what happened to him. Don't worry, he will be little eventually, I promise it's coming!</p><p>ENJOY!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> “Good mooooorning, Watson” came a sing-song voice from the door. </p><p>
  <span>Joan opened one of her eyes, moaning at being woken up from such a restful sleep and putting an arm over her eyes to protect them from the sunlight that was coming from the window. She looked at the door, where the voice had come from, and saw Sherlock’s face peeping through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning. You woke up happy today” she remarked with a sleepy smile, then she yawned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded repeatedly, a thankful smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes. Then, he energetically opened the door and waltzed into his bedroom with a tray of food. As it was customary for him, he’d brought her breakfast: toast with butter, a few pieces of cut fruit and two steaming mugs of coffee. He set the tray on the nightstand and gestured to Joan, picking up his mug and sitting down on the chair next to the bed. He was in a good mood, she could tell, and full of energy like an overexcited child. Now that she’d seen how Sherlock behaved when being little, she could also see small quirks that slipped through his adult self; and the way he could barely contain his excitement and eagerness was one of them. She hid her smile with a yawn.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you sleep well?” she asked while she sat down, resting her back on the bedpost, and put the tray on her lap. He was already dressed in his usual, formal attire of trousers, shirt and blazer, and he was obviously not in little space now. However, Joan could already see the benefits in him: he had less pronounced bags under his eyes, they looked clearer and less troubled, and even his skin seemed to glow. Amazing what a couple of well-rested nights can do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did, thank you. Best sleep I’ve had in… months probably. And you?” he asked, very politely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm like a baby” she teased, and she chuckled when Sherlock had the deference of blushing slightly “I’m glad to see this really has helped. You’ve slept an entire night without waking up and you look much better”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has helped. You were right, as you most often are, that this would have its benefits” Sherlock agreed and sipped his coffee, ruminating “maybe after breakfast we can tackle the case again? Together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan fell silent for a second, her smile faltering: she had been hoping he wouldn’t push the issue for a few more days. But it seemed that there was no luck, there never was when Sherlock was concerned. His life was his work, he was eager to simply leap into the void, confident in his abilities to come out safe and sound of any given situation, but it didn’t always work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure, Sherlock?” she said, munching on a piece of toast with butter and looking at him through worried eyes “this was a lot for you and I don’t want to put you in a difficult position. Are you sure you don’t prefer to sit this one out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, and by the pent-up energy she could feel coming off in waves, he was, in fact, eager to get into action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that what happened was… hard. And I still carry the after-effects” he accepted “but I also believe that my regression can help us reach a breakthrough. I haven’t been able to deal with this for years and it’s a burden I don’t want anymore”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have that burden in the first place” Joan answered, agreeing at least with that “but are you sure you’re ready to look at this again? Last night you were in control of when and where you regressed, and you knew it was only you and me. But not the first time it happened…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The first time it took me by surprise. Now, I see things from a different angle. Besides” he added, looking at Joan with a soft smile and a warm tone in his voice “you are the best caregiver I could have. I’m… not sure how often I will have to be little, or if I’ll be an agreeable child or a naughty, spoilt one. I can’t really tell. But I’m confident that with you by my side in those moments when I feel lonely and all I want to do is to be held, we can use the moments I’m not regressed to work on the case. Together we can close this and finish this gang, Watson. Forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan felt a jolt in her heart. Sherlock certainly had a way with words nobody else did, he could disarm her with speaking from the bottom of his heart. She smiled warmly at him, knowing he was right, she would always be there to cuddle him and look after him. Knowing what he experienced as a child, all she wanted to do now was make his second childhood count and give him all the love and warmth he had lacked as a boy. She also smiled at his persistence and trust in them. He was confident in their abilities and the work they did together, and she felt an unmistakable emotion bubbling up in her chest.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ate her breakfast while she thought about it. She saw Sherlock’s set determination in his eyes, she knew he wanted, <em>needed</em> to deal with this and close a very painful chapter in his life. But she was also worried it would be putting to much strain on him, he had already been hanging by a thread as it was. She didn’t know to what extent regressing a couple of times could help him in dealing with something so big and traumatic, she expected him to need a few more times of this to be able to tackle the problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite her smile, Joan hadn’t said anything, but Sherlock seemed determined to get her to agree. He stood from the chair and left the coffee mug on the nightstand, only to take a couple of small steps to sit down on her bed, close to her, taking one of her hands. She smiled and raised her eyebrows when his thumb started to caress the back and the palm of her hand, drawing imaginary circles, still surprised each time Sherlock initiated physical contact. Not in a million years, she would’ve thought he would enjoy small displays of affection, and her smile turned warmer and softer while her hand went towards his face, caressing his slightly stubbled cheek with fondness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please Watson. I need to do this, and I need you with me” Sherlock pleaded. He looked at her with puppy eyes, and Joan rolled her eyes and huffed, slightly amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay. I can never say no when you look at me like that…” she half-heartedly complained, but she smiled when he chuckled in response “I’ll call the Captain and arrange a meeting”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan finished her breakfast and Sherlock his coffee together, discussing what their next move should be, but their hands never let go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few hours later, Marcus, Sherlock, Joan and the Captain were in the latter’s office at the 11th Precinct. Joan and Sherlock had discussed things before going to the station and, while Sherlock had refused again to tell her what had happened in the days of his captivity, he at least agreed to tell the Captain and Marcus that Sherlock had been captured by the gang long time ago but wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Suffice to say he was ready to get cracking and help the NYPD solve this case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both the Captain and Marcus had looked slightly suspicious but had agreed to take Sherlock to Tom Trevor’s house, the man who had been killed in Brooklyn. And that’s where Sherlock and Marcus were, Joan had stayed behind to look through old files of the gang, trying to see a pattern somewhere that others may have missed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, are you okay?” Marcus asked as soon as Sherlock and he were left alone in the room. CSU had found nothing, no fingerprints, no DNA other than Trevor’s… Sherlock, who was kneeling and inspecting the living room carpet, looked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Why do you ask?” Sherlock said, getting up and walking around the room and taking in everything: the disposition of the furniture, the absence of pet hair, the foul combination of smells… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’d never seen you like that. You got us worried, man” Marcus said. Sherlock sighed and looked at him. He could see Marcus was uncomfortable and embarrassed to talk about it, but he also saw concern behind his squared shoulders and averted gaze. He was very lucky to have such friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I worried you,” he said, and then he gulped “as I told you at the Captain’s office, the situation was… complicated. But we’re handling it. I think my breakdown may have brought a way to cope with this, and Watson is helping a great deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she does that, doesn’t she?” Marcus said with a soft smile on his lips “well, I’m glad she’s helping, God knows you and her are made for each other. And you know you can count on us too for anything”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, and I appreciate it, Marcus. Truly” Sherlock answered; his voice very nearly cracking. Before his discharge from rehab, he didn’t have any friends, Alistair being one of the few he could consider a true friend. He had always considered himself above matters of the heart, not only when it came to romantic love but other types of attachment as well. Now, not only did he have Joan but also Marcus and the Captain. They worked in perfect harmony together and he couldn’t thank enough the deities he didn’t believe in for the stroke of grace he’d been granted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as he was about to walk away from the kitchen, he saw something strange in the fridge. The autopsy report said that Trevor had been lactose intolerant, which was why there were a few cartons of soymilk and other vegetable drinks, but there were also a couple of bottles of semi-skimmed milk. The brand wasn’t one Sherlock was familiar with, it looked foreign, and that specificity might be their salvation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his phone and called Joan immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>Yes?</em>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watson, I need you to search for shops in New York that sell semi-skimmed milk of the brand <em>Ahoy</em>,” he said in one go. Joan was silent for a second and he could hear the typing of a keyboard, she was in front of a computer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>Okay… can you tell me why I’m looking for this?”</em></span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>Trevor was lactose intolerant, but there are a few bottles of semi-skimmed milk in his fridge. He lived alone and it’s unlikely he went to buy milk himself, as he was well-known by the police and any simple action could mean risking arrest” he explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mmm that brand is French and it isn’t very well-known. So, if we find the place where they bought it, we may get one step closer to who wanted him dead” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Joan finished for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded, even though she couldn’t see him, his chest bubbling with pride. Damn, she was good!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>Found it! It’s a small shop in Brooklyn. Do you want me to go? I’m closer than you are”</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let me know if you find anything” Sherlock said before he hung up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus had been listening to Sherlock’s conversation and he had already taken the few bottles of semi-skimmed milk in evidence bags for the lab to confirm there were no fingerprints there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now all we have to do is wait and see if Joan finds us a new lead. Let me take you home” Marcus said, and together they left the apartment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few hours later, Sherlock was at the edge of a precipice, his worry going through the roof. He’d called and texted Joan but she hadn’t answered her phone, and he tried to ignore the pit in his stomach. Something was wrong, he couldn’t put a finger on it, but he was sure something had happened. He tried calling her again, her phone going straight to voicemail, and he left his umpteenth voice message, asking her to call him and let him know she was okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, as soon as he hung up, his phone rang. He looked at the screen, his hands shaking when he saw the caller ID: Joan Watson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watson! I was beginning to get worried, where –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>I see you didn’t learn from your mistakes</em>” said a man’s voice through the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks immediately, his heart jolting in his chest and his throat constricting. He knew that voice. It was <em>him</em>. He stood there, his back perfectly straight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What… what have you done to her?” he asked quietly, trying for his voice to not falter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>Oh, we’re just having a bit of fun. She was poking around places she shouldn’t have been, same as you</em>” the voice said, “<em>you might recall why you ended up here…</em>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let her go. If you have a problem take me instead, but she has nothing to do with this…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>She does, she’s been working with you for a long time. We’ve been watching you, some say you’re a package deal now, not one without the other. Quite nice coming from our very own Sherly…</em>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock felt nausea coming up his throat, his ears rang and tears started to well up in his eyes. Nobody had called him that, nobody but him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>I wonder what I could do to her while I wait for you to come…” </em>his voice had a disgustingly honeyed tone, and he gulped, trying to ignore the burn in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch her… please…” he begged. He knew he was in no position to demand, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t let anything happen to Joan if he could help it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>Then you know what you have to do. Come to us, no police, nothing. Or else, you know what she’ll be getting…</em>” the voice said, forgetting all fake sweet tones and now sounding hard and threatening; before the line went dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s knees gave out the moment the call ended, his phone falling from his hands onto the carpeted floor with a thud. He had her. He hadn’t been there to protect her and now he had her, and by god, he knew what that man was capable of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t aware of his hands trembling when dialling Marcus’ number and waiting for him to pick up, his mouth was dry. All the thoughts and memories were running through his head, but he couldn’t falter, not now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>Hey, Sherlock?</em>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has her” Sherlock wheezed, his voice breaking. He tried to stifle his moans but he couldn’t, and sniffled, trying to speak “He has Joan…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a couple of seconds of silence at the other end of the line, and Sherlock could faintly hear Marcus swear under his breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>Stay put. We’re on our way</em>” said Marcus’ voice through the phone before the line went dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock left the phone on the floor and sat with his knees close to his chest. He’d failed her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It took him a long while for his mind to return to the present. He was still on the floor, trying to control his sobs, but he couldn’t. The desperation he felt was eating him alive, his Joan had been kidnapped by the same people that had hurt him to the point of breaking him all those years ago. If he thought what he had experienced before was painful he was proven wrong: he felt as if his heart was being torn apart by knowing it wasn’t him but her who was suffering at the hands of that deranged, depraved criminal. </p><p>
  <span>He felt himself slip at an alarming pace, the pain in his chest lulling his senses. He could only grab his hair and pull, closing his hands in fists so tightly his nails were drawing blood, but he didn’t care. He just wanted his Joanie. He was scared of the bad man he could only imagine because he’d never seen him, and he didn’t want to think what he might do to Joan if he failed. Why was this happening to him? He only wanted to cuddle to Joan, to feel her hands on his back, gently rubbing and pressing her against him; to listen to her heartbeat in her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, out of the blue, he remembered his bee pacifier. Sherlock tried to remember the last time he’d used it, and he let out a sob when he honestly couldn’t recall; until he saw something on one of the tables of his study. He got up from the floor, ignoring the pain in his knees, and dragged his feet towards the adjoining room. There it was, perfectly placed on top of a neatly arranged stack of books, his bee paci. It looked clean and he grabbed it with shaking hands, realizing there was a small note under it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For when you need it and can’t find it,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Joan </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiled, tears welling up in his eyes again, but he refused to put it in his mouth. He was dying to suck on it, the motions of his mouth and the touch of the gum against his tongue and teeth sure to bring him the comfort he so desperately needed. But he knew that if he started sucking on the dummy it would be even harder to get out of his little space, and Joan needed him to be big now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell rang and he jumped. He looked at the pacifier in his hand and without second thoughts he placed in his breast pocket, touching with his fingers the outside of his jacket to make sure it was safe. Yes, he couldn’t use it, but having it with him would help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to extricate himself from the whirlwind of emotions and memories. He wiped his tears again, shaking his head and taking a few deep breaths. Now he couldn’t be little, now he couldn’t give in to his urges and needs. Joan needed him, and he would do everything in his power to save her. Going down into a spiral of negativity would serve no one, much less to Joan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Marcus and the Captain got to the brownstone together, Sherlock opened the door and let them in with no words. Both policemen could see his blotchy eyes and wet cheeks, and when they got to the library they could see the depths of Sherlock’s desperation: the tables were all turned upside down, all the books and stacks of papers scattered on the floor, and there were a couple of broken glasses shattered. They exchanged a concerned gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Sherlock. We’ve got the best team looking for her” the Captain spoke, walking towards him with a reassuring voice “we won’t let her get hurt”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you… you don’t understand! It’s me they want, not her!” Sherlock shouted. He could barely hold the Captain’s eyes and he averted his gaze, feeling tears welling up again in his eyes. So much for being strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do they want you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s complicated” Sherlock whispered, then looked at him with pleading eyes “please Captain, I’m begging you… don’t make me say…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock, I know this is hard. But we need every bit of information we can get our hands on” the Captain insisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t… it’s just… you wouldn’t understand…” Sherlock whispered, walking a few feet away from the Captain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then help us understand” Marcus interrupted. He sighed, walked decisively in front of Sherlock and placed a hand on his shoulder, applying the slight pressure to anchor him to the present. The sob that escaped from his throat at the contact wasn’t overlooked by either men “we know it’s hard, you wouldn’t be in this state if they hadn’t hurt you. But if we really want to help Joan, you need to tell us what happened. Please, Sherlock, be brave. For Joan…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock gulped and tried to regain control of his breathing. He wiped his tears away and cleared his throat, closing his eyes for a second. His mind flew back to the warm feeling in his chest when Joan surrounded him with her arms, how calm and at peace he’d felt when being held, how she’d known what to do and say when he was upset. He wanted nothing more than to get that back again. He wanted Joan back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blinking back tears he took a deep breath, bringing his right hand to his breast pocket and touching it, knowing the paci was safe with him. And began speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was a few years ago, in 2008. I had fled London for a time and was living in New York, this was before… Moriarty” he started. His voice sounded monotone and flat and he tried to keep it that way, detached from his feelings and emotions, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to finish “ I was investigating a case of a robbery gone wrong, or so I thought, but then I started to see that there was more to it than met the eye. They… they took me in broad daylight, much like… Joan”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his throat constrict at voicing her name, but he cleared his throat. He wanted, <em>needed </em>to tell this story, to make sure it wasn’t all his imagination. And to prepare for any eventuality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They handcuffed me, blindfolded me, put a ball in my mouth and left me in a cell for days. I could be wrong, but by my calculations, his… <em>visits </em>started on the third day”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“<em>His </em>visits?” the Captain asked, emphasizing the pronoun. Sherlock nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was the only one who had contact with me or who entered in the cell, and he’s the one who has just called me. I never saw him, but I could recognize his voice anywhere” Sherlock continued “I had been smitten with someone for a while, but she must’ve been working for them. The torture began when they gave me her clothes. After days of being food, sleep and touch-deprived I was manic for something to hold on to, I felt my mind slipping away and her clothes, her smell, brought me comfort… but after each of his visits, the beatings began”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes vacant and fixed on a book of the library, he wasn’t aware of the Captain and Marcus taking a seat on the armchairs in front of him. Marcus was listening intently; the Captain had a notebook and pen in his hands and was scribbling quickly as Sherlock spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was always like that, they would bring me clothes that smelled like her, I could even recognize some of the blouses they brought… and when I was starting to draw comfort from it, they brutalized my body with all sorts of instruments” he kept rambling on, now that he had begun he couldn’t stop, he wanted to get everything off his chest “the more I resisted crying out and shouting, the more violent the beatings were. In the end, I learnt to ignore the piece of clothing and lay there until the blows stopped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus let out an audible sigh, he couldn’t believe Sherlock had survived something like that! Now his reaction made sense, a lesser man than Sherlock would’ve already perished to the trauma and terror of seeing this gang at large again; and kidnapping no other than his most beloved friend and partner. No wonder he was terrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you know why I have trust issues, and why I don’t particularly like physical contact. This… experience marked a before and after in my life. I couldn’t be the same person after that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both men nodded, the tension in the atmosphere was tangible, this was a grave situation. None of the three men could ignore the fact that Joan was a woman, and therefore, the stakes of her being sexually abused apart from brutalized were much higher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And now you know why we need to find Joan. Now. Before it’s too late” Sherlock heard himself say, his voice rough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will,” the Captain said, his voice decisive “we promise, Sherlock. We’re not going to let her down. We’ll find her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock touched his breast pocket again and nodded, gulping. He wished the Captain was right.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Joan has been taken, and she tries to understand what these people want from Sherlock. Meanwhile, Sherlock has to deal with her disappearance alone in the brownstone, away from his caregiver, and fights his urges to be little. How will they cope?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi dear readers!!<br/>As always, thank you immensely for your continuous support, your kudos, comments and hits mean the world to me!!!<br/>Here we go with another chapter of this story, I hope you like it!!!!!!</p><p>ENJOY!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joan opened her eyes slowly, feeling disoriented. The first thing she registered was the darkness surrounding her. She felt her mouth dry and her lips chapped, she passed the tongue around them and felt the distinctive and disgusting after-taste of chloroform. She also registered a nagging headache she was feeling, and the fact that she was handcuffed.</p><p>
  <em>Okay Joan, calm down. Think.</em>
</p><p>She started to remember what had happened before she lost consciousness. She had been to the shop she’d found and had spoken to the manager. It was a small shop run by a French expat, and he didn’t know the name of the man who came to buy the semi-skimmed milk, but he did remember what the man looked like. Apparently, the shop didn’t sell as much, so it wasn’t too hard to remember the few customers of the place. He’d given a description of him which Joan had typed on her phone, and she was about to send the description to the captain for a sketch artist to draw when she’d received a blow to the head. <em>Now I understand where my headache comes from</em> she thought.</p><p>She took a deep breath and looked around, starting to observe and deduce everything she could, remembering how Sherlock had taught her to start by the most obvious senses and work from there. She couldn’t see anything, but it was because the room she was in was dark, not because she was blindfolded. Okay, that was good. There was no light so she couldn’t make out how big the room was or where the door was, she would have to wait until whoever that retained her came back.</p><p>Then, the sounds. She couldn’t hear anything, it was dead silent, which meant that this was most likely a concrete structure. Maybe an old industrial unit? Next came touch. She could feel herself sitting on a chair, wooden by the sound of it when she moved, and both her legs were tied to it. Her hands were tied on her back, and she was lucky. They hadn’t used handcuffs, but cable ties. It would be painful, but she could, with time, get rid of those; whereas with handcuffs, she would need a pin or something to pick the insides of the lock.</p><p>There was a scuffing, metal noise and suddenly the door opened. Joan had only mere moments to have a look at the room, and as she’d deduced, it was made of concrete. It wasn’t particularly big, probably the same size as their library in the brownstone, and it was completely bare.</p><p>The brownstone. <em>Sherlock</em>. She felt a pang in her heart to know how frantic Sherlock must be feeling right now, and he hoped he had contacted Marcus and the Captain. She knew as well as he that he didn’t deal well with emotions all by himself. She hoped he was doing okay, despite the circumstances, and for a fleeting moment, she wanted nothing more than to go back to last night, where she fell asleep with a sleepy little boy curled up against her. She smiled, feeling some warmth inside her despite the cold room and her surroundings.</p><p>“Comfy?” said the man that had entered the room. He was wearing a ski mask and gloves, but she fixed her gaze on him to try to take measurements. He must’ve been quite tall, around six foot, and was quite lean underneath his oversized jacket. His stance told her he was military or ex-military, probably trained in combat.</p><p>“Very” she answered, “where am I, if I may ask?”</p><p>“In a place that’s going to break you,” the man said confidently. He had a strong Spanish accent “now tell me, where is your friend Sherlock? I didn’t finish with him, he left before I could…”</p><p>At the mention of Sherlock, Joan’s blood boiled in her veins. Her jaw tightened so much her teeth hurt, and her hands clenched in fists behind her back.</p><p>“Don’t you dare mention his name” she hissed through her teeth, her voice shaking slightly due to anger. </p><p>“Oh, are you threatening me? You’re in no position to do that, dear” he mocked in a sing-song tone.</p><p>He moved swiftly, so much in fact that she didn’t see the blow coming, and she gasped at the cut that followed, wincing at the surprise and the pain. Confused as to what had caused her forehead to bleed, she noticed he wore a ring. She smiled mischievously; he was wearing something she could identify him with. She played along and cried out, while she memorized the distinctive shape of the ring.</p><p>“I’ll come back later to see if you’ve changed your mind, and I hope you have. Or else” he threatened before he left and closed the door behind him.</p><p>Joan sighed and tried to bend her back to clean the blood on her forehead with her knees, it was hard because she couldn’t push them up, but she managed. After that, she dedicated the next hours to get rid of her hand ties and devise a plan to escape. </p><p>She wondered how Sherlock was fairing. She knew, since it had happened before, that when Joan was in danger he was capable of anything. She was terribly sorry she had been kidnapped right when Sherlock was beginning to use age regression as a way to cope with the trauma this man (or men, she only had seen one) had caused him, and she didn’t know what these recent events might do to him. She sincerely hoped he could manage to keep nerves of steel and be strong, and when they were together again, she would make sure to smother him with kisses and cuddles. Joan drew comfort from remembering her little Sherlock and wished nothing more than to be with him again. When all of this was over, she was going to make sure her boy got everything he wanted and would spoil him rotten. He deserved it, after his first childhood, to be spoiled and loved for once. Set in her resolution, she kept trying to undo her hand ties.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>It was night, well past midnight, in fact. Not that Joan would know, Sherlock thought bitterly. If she’d been taken to a place similar to the one he’d been in, it was a closed and darkened cell, where there was no way to know if it was day or night, no way to count the hours. </p><p>He was exhausted, his eyes burned and were sore of all the times he was very nearly brought to tears. His Joanie was taken, and he could do nothing about it. He had tried, he’d accompanied Marcus to the expat shop, the last place Joan was seen, and he had helped to canvass the area. They’d found tyre marks left by a car, of which Sherlock had deduced its model and year of manufacture; and they’d talked to the shop keeper, who told them about the man and Joan herself.</p><p>There was nothing more that could be done for today, but like with every case that warranted his attention, Sherlock couldn’t stop. Tonight, though, he was frantic. It was the first night in a long time he was alone, completely and utterly alone, and he was afraid. The brownstone felt bigger and colder, not like the <em>sanctum sanctorum</em> he’d always believed it was. He’d been sitting on the warm, carpeted floor of the library, staring into the wall with a vacant expression, tears falling freely down his cheeks without him trying to prevent it.</p><p>He felt powerless. Hopeless. How the great detective Sherlock Holmes had come to that, he couldn’t honestly say. But without Joan with him, he didn’t know what to do. The bee pacifier was in his hand, it had been for the last five minutes, but he hadn’t dared to put it in his mouth. He feared what might happen if he did, if he regressed to little space all on his own, knowing Joan couldn’t come to wipe his tears away and shush him with sweet words. But his instincts were screaming for him to do it, to let go and let his tears wash his pain away.</p><p>Very slowly he got up from the floor and dragged his feet up the stairs, his shoulders hunched in a defeated position, towards Joan’s room. He didn’t want to go to his room, all on his own, but to hers where he could feel her presence surround him. When he opened the door he inhaled a couple of times, Joan’s scent bringing a new bout of tears to his eyes, and a low whimper escaped his throat. His fingers itched for something to hold on to, and he threw himself on Joan’s bed, climbing under the covers and draping them over his entire body. He knew he was making a mess and the following morning there would be stains on Joan’s pillow of mucus and tears, but right now he didn’t care.</p><p>The pacifier found its way between his lips almost as if it had a life of its own, and for the first minutes he closed his eyes and sucked, focusing on the motions of his tongue against the rubber of the dummy and listening to the soft suckling sounds his mouth was making. He burrowed his face further into the pillow, curling up into a foetal position with his knees close to his chest, and began to cry silently. He knew Joan was far away from him, and he felt horrible for being unable to save her, unable to keep her safe from the predators and enemies that hunted him. He gasped for breath, squeezing the rubber of the pacifier between his teeth in an attempt to steel himself, but he couldn’t. </p><p>He let go and sobbed silently into Joan’s pillow, wishing he could trade places with her, wishing she was safe. Wishing she was strong enough to hold on until they could rescue her. Wishing he was with her when she was likely as scared as he was, probably more. Just wishing she was here, with him, when he most needed her. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“We’ve got them!” shouted the Captain triumphally a day later, bursting the door open and startling Sherlock, who’d been sitting alone in a room of the precinct in silence, waiting for news. </p><p>In the end, the lead of the semi-skimmed milk paid off, they’d brought a man into custody and knowing he would face gigantic charges for assaulting a consulting detective who worked with the police (even if he hadn’t actually done it), he cracked. He’d told them about all the buildings the gang had in possession, and they had swept all of them, except for one. </p><p>“A SWAT team is waiting for us there, there are cars and one of them matches the tyre marks left on the road when they captured Joan” the Captain explained.</p><p>Sherlock jumped at his words and got ready to follow them, but the Captain put a hand on his chest.</p><p>“Sherlock, these guys are dangerous, and they want you. Stay here and wait for us, we’ll bring her back” he tried to persuade him.</p><p>“No. Joan is there Captain, she needs –”</p><p>“What she needs is for you to remain calm and stay out of harm’s way” the Captain insisted. But Sherlock couldn’t stay, he was so close to getting Joan back again.</p><p>“I CAN’T!” he shouted and slapped the table with his open hand. He gulped and tried to choke back tears, and muttered an apology “Captain, she’s been in hell, I need… I need to be with her, please…”</p><p>Captain Gregson looked at Sherlock through concerned eyes. If it was some other cop, he would definitely order him to stay put and wait, but it was Sherlock they were talking about. He knew how dangerous the man was, for him and others, when people he cared about were hurt, and all the more reason when it was done to get to him. But behind that façade he could see how hard Sherlock was taking this situation, Joan was essential in Sherlock’s life and he was being torn apart. He gave him time to compose himself and silently wipe his eyes. </p><p>He didn’t need to know the details of the past couple of days and how Joan and Sherlock were dealing with his breakdown, it was more than obvious to him and anyone with a pair of eyes, that Sherlock and Watson were two faces of the same coin. Where one faltered, the other took a step forward. They worked as the yin and yang, perfectly balanced in their love and respect for each other, and even if they had drawn further from each other in the past, now he sensed their relationship had taken a huge step forward. He didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t need to. Just seeing Sherlock’s pleading eyes and honest desperation to get back to Joan was enough for Gregson, he didn’t have the heart to separate them any longer than necessary, so, against his better judgement, he relented.</p><p>“Okay, you can come” he accepted “but stay out of the way until we have apprehended them and they’re all in custody”</p><p>Sherlock nodded and got ready to go.</p><p> </p><p>The sweep was smooth, or so it seemed. While the SWAT team searched the building Sherlock was frantically waiting outside, as the Captain had said, and was manically touching his breast pocket, trying to draw comfort from knowing his pacifier was with him while he waited, and waited. At one point, though, he thought he saw someone lurking in the shadows.</p><p>His eyes opened wide, he couldn’t be sure it was <em>him</em>, but he had a hunch and most often, first instincts were right. He leapt into action without waiting for the green light from the Captain, this was his chance and he wasn’t going to waste it.</p><p>The man saw him and wanted to run away, but he had no way out, the building was isolated and it was surrounded by police cars. </p><p>“YOU GIT!” he shouted at the top of his voice, slowing to a walking pace now that he was in front of him. He focused on the man wearing a ski mask, who seeing as he was going nowhere stood tall. His stance told him he was military trained. Sherlock drew his brows closer and hissed between his teeth “where is she?”</p><p>“In the end, you came, Sherly… I can’t believe you’ve been so idiot… you knew our arrangement…” he couldn’t deny it now, it was his voice. Sherlock gulped, forcing his nausea down his throat, and clenched his hands in tight fists. </p><p>“I had no arrangement with you” he hissed “WHERE IS SHE?”</p><p>“Try to find her. If you can…” the man whispered. Sherlock was trying to deduce his next move when he was startled by a great explosion behind him. He turned around on instinct to see what was happening, and his eyes registered one of the police cars had exploded and was now burning in huge flames, when suddenly he felt his throat constrict. </p><p>Sherlock had no time to pull at his neck when something thin and strong strangled him, he kicked his arms, unable to breathe. </p><p>“I told you to come here alone… and what do you do? Disobey me and bring your friends… you’ve been naughty Sherly…” the voice came in gasps next to his ear, it sounded menacing, deep and terrifying. Sherlock was losing his vision, he barely registered that he lacked oxygen, his throat burning, and soon would pass out. His arms started to weigh a ton, every movement was agony. </p><p>But Sherlock was prepared this time. In his struggle to breathe he managed to pull a pocketknife and with no time to waste he pushed it against the man’s upper leg. The man screamed in pain and suddenly, Sherlock was able to breathe again, walking a few paces away while he coughed violently, struggling to gain control and get oxygen into his lungs again. </p><p>He distantly thought that if this was the time he was going to die, better now than prolong his suffering. But the man didn’t walk towards him, suddenly he ran as fast as he could and got into one of the police cars. He tried to warn the men, tell them that he was stealing one of his cars, but his throat still burned and couldn’t shout. He coughed almost to the point of retching, grabbing his throat with pain, and through teary eyes, he saw the man getting into a car and driving away. The other cops only realized that when they heard an engine revving behind them, they had been tending to the burning police car and hadn’t noticed the man scurrying away.</p><p>“Sherlock! Are you okay? What happened?” that was Detective Gail’s voice. He helped Sherlock get up and Sherlock could finally breathe normally, even when his throat was killing him.</p><p>“Where… Joan?” he managed to rasp while he gasped for breath; the Detective just gave him a small smile.</p><p>“They found her, she’s fine,” she said “come with me” </p><p>He followed Detective Gail through the building, his strides so long and his pace so fast he was almost running towards the stairs that led to the basement, downstairs and along a darkened and cold corridor. The moment Sherlock saw Joan turn around the corner, escorted by two policemen, he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes fixed on her. His throat emitted a low sob he couldn’t contain, and he had to put his hand on the wall for support while he never took his eyes off her. </p><p>She was okay. She was <em>alive</em>. </p><p>Joan found his gaze and her eyes settled upon him, silently asking how he was doing, and Sherlock did the same. His eyes narrowed when he saw a bruise on her cheek and a cut on her forehead with dry blood on it.</p><p>The two policemen and Detective Gail were taken aback when they both, as if spurred by a lightning bolt, started to run towards each other at the same time, Sherlock’s cheeks already full of tears that had rolled down. Their bodies collided with the force of a car crash, frantically pulling, grabbing and squeezing each other, wanting to feel more of the other. Sherlock let out a pitiful sob and held her tightly while he gasped for breath. </p><p>“I’m okay, Sherlock. I’m not hurt” she mumbled against his chest, the urgency of their reunion taking more importance than the policemen still around them. They were not aware of their presence anymore, they had only eyes for each other, so the three men quickly left them alone, giving them privacy.</p><p>“God, I thought… I thought…” he choked out, squeezing her tight against him.</p><p>“I know…” she whispered while she returned the hug, as desperate and hungry for contact as he was.</p><p>They both fell silent, holding each other and drawing comfort in the knowledge that they were together again, that the ordeal had finally passed. </p><p>“Are you sure you’re alright?” Sherlock asked after a while, pushing her away from him just enough to be able to look at her face. His fingers hovered over the cut on her forehead and he inspected it. Thankfully it was small and superficial. She snorted.</p><p>“Yes. I only got this cut and bruise” she answered “the imbecile was wearing a ring when he slapped me, which is what cut me, so we can use it to trace him if he has disappeared” she added triumphally. But then she looked at him and saw the marks on his throat, and her hands were quickly there, prodding.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“I… found him. He was about to escape, and I faced him” Sherlock said. He didn’t know how he felt about that yet “I… I managed to stab him on the leg though, so he won’t get too far”</p><p>Joan nodded; they would talk about what this meant for Sherlock later. He still was looking at her with suspicion and concern, his eyes still scared, his body riling with an excess of adrenaline. She smiled softly and allowed one of her hands to travel to his hair and tangled her fingers on it, Sherlock moaned slightly at her touch and shut his eyes, bowing his head and resting his forehead against her shoulder. She turned her neck and planted a sweet but very loud kiss on his temple, and then a few little ones, smothering his temple and forehead with kisses. </p><p>“I’m okay Sherlock, truly. They tried to get me to talk but didn’t have time to do anything to me” Joan reassured him, and he sniffled against her.</p><p>At that moment the Captain and Marcus appeared, and they ended their hug, but Sherlock grabbed Joan’s arm. He wasn’t going to let her go out of his sight for a long time, and she was okay with that.</p><p>“Hey, how are you feeling?” the Captain asked Joan. She looked at him and smiled.</p><p>“I’m alright, just tired and sore, but they didn’t hurt me except for this,” she said, gesturing with her hand at her forehead “right now I just want to go home”</p><p>“And Sherlock what were you thinking? You faced that man on your own! Why?” the Captain asked Sherlock. He looked down to the ground sheepishly, as if he were being scolded, and Joan had to keep the smile that wanted to appear on her lips to herself.</p><p>“He was about to get away,” he said simply “I couldn’t… I had to know more about him, see him at least. I had to.”</p><p>It seemed that the Captain was going to continue his reprimand but thought better of it. He put one hand on Joan’s shoulder and another on Sherlock’s and gently pushed them both in the direction of the stairs. </p><p>“Alright, let’s get outside and get one of the medics to treat that cut and see those marks on your throat, and you can be on your way. Both of you” the Captain said, looking at Sherlock. But Sherlock wasn’t looking at him, he didn’t even nod at his words, he only had eyes for Joan. The Captain and Marcus shared a fond smile, Sherlock had been hysterical the two days Joan had been captured and they were also relieved she was safe and with him, again. As it should be.</p><p>“I’m glad you’re back,” Marcus said, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. She smiled, leaning into the touch.</p><p>“Thanks, Marcus. And thanks for looking after him” she said, grabbing Sherlock’s arm with a bit more strength and pointing at him with her head. Marcus smiled again and patted Sherlock on his back.</p><p>“A fighter, this one. Both of you, in fact” he said with a hint of pride in his voice. Joan and Sherlock looked at each other, Sherlock with a tint of blush on his cheeks, and smiled softly. </p><p>All four of them walked up the stairs into the sun, and Joan was taken to the ambulance that had arrived shortly after they had. Sherlock was still grabbing her arm and the paramedic was about to tell him to step back, but he held on tightly, his eyes widening in fear. Joan stepped forward, though, and looked at Sherlock reassuringly. </p><p>“It’s just a cut, you can treat it with him here,” she told the paramedic, who just nodded curtly and began to work.</p><p>Sherlock was in no state to talk, but he looked at her gratefully. He stood guard next to her while she sat on the gurney of the ambulance, he grabbed her hand and took it to his lips, kissing it vehemently while the paramedic applied an antiseptic and a couple of staples to help it heal better. The paramedic was about to take a look at his throat, but he shook his head, he wasn’t in the mood for prods or questions. He just wanted to go home. So, Joan was cleared to go.</p><p>The ride home was a silent one, the atmosphere was still charged. Joan felt exhausted, she would need at least a couple of days of rest, and the Captain had been understanding enough and had given them as much time as needed, no return date, to rest and work through what had transpired. He would come by in a couple of days to take her statement, but for now, she could relax.</p><p>She snuggled a bit more into the backseat of the police car and closed her eyes. She could still feel Sherlock’s gaze hovering over her, making sure she really was okay, and she felt a warm feeling bubble in her chest. She extended her hand, which Sherlock took rapidly, and he fondled his fingers with hers. They didn’t say a word, didn’t seem comfortable to do that in front of two cops even if they were from the 11th, but the gesture seemed to bring a bit more calmness to Sherlock.</p><p>When they got home he led the way up the stairs of the entrance, opening both doors for her. His hand was at the base of her spine, and he wanted to lead her to the bathroom, but she instead turned right and walked towards the library. She gasped when she saw the state the room was in, but then she looked at him, understanding crossing through her eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry you felt like that, Sherlock” she whispered, taking in the upturned table, the shattered glasses and the sheets of paper and books thrown out on the floor. </p><p>Joan had known for a long time that Sherlock needed her to feel serene, he’d said as much long years ago, that with her he was sharper and more focused. They had become indispensable to each other’s mental and emotional health, and now, with this big step they had taken together, it seemed that their lives were even more woven together than before if that was possible. She knew that life with Sherlock was unpredictable, exciting and thrilling; and being able to see behind the name and knowing the great man that existed behind his shell was an honour she never took for granted. Her heart swelled with love and pride at seeing him every morning, always realizing in the midst of running and solving cases that this, their life together, was something she would never trade for anything.</p><p>Only there was one drawback to this, and that was the realization that Sherlock’s greatest weakness was Joan herself. If something happened to her Sherlock lost his footing, like a rug being pulled from under his feet, and he didn’t know where to turn to. </p><p>“I’m so sorry I made you hurt. I never wanted that” Joan mumbled, still giving her back to him.</p><p>“You didn’t hurt me, Watson. He did” he answered. His voice was low and deep with emotion “and it is I who should be apologising. It was because of me you were there, and…”</p><p>“No. Stop that, stop feeling guilty. This wasn’t because of you. That man is deranged, and it’s because of him that I ended up there. Not you” she said adamantly, turning around to face him.</p><p>Sherlock didn’t say anything for a few seconds, his head was bowed and was avoiding her gaze. Joan gave him time.</p><p>“I’m going to run you a bath, Watson” he said suddenly after a while.</p><p>“Okay, but first come here” she whispered, stretching her hand.</p><p>He looked at her hand and then at her, confusion written in his eyes.</p><p>“But Watson, what are you doing? You need a bath, I…”</p><p>“I know, and I will take a bath later. But what I need right now, what I’m dying to get, is a big hug from my big little man, who’s saved me again” she said. Her tone was light, but she could see how her words penetrated Sherlock’s defences, his expression changing into one of pure love and adoration.</p><p>He wasted no time in accepting Joan’s invitation and her stretched hand, and he embraced her tightly. She pulled him against her, pressing his body and allowing his face to seek refuge in her shoulders, hiding from view with her hair. She sensed his need, his hands clinging at her clothes, it felt as though Sherlock was trying to make himself believe she was there, it wasn’t a hallucination.  </p><p>“I was… god, this was horrible, Watson, I was so… I thought he would do to you what he did to me, and I…”</p><p>“I know, I know you were worried. And I know what he did to you” she answered. Sherlock looked at her wide-eyed and alarmed, starting to push himself away and intending to run away from her, but Joan didn’t let him. She looked at him straight in the eyes, reassuringly, and placed one hand on his cheek, caressing the skin with the back of her fingers “I needed to know what to expect, so I managed to worm it out of the man. The bastard kept gloating” she added with underlying fury. Sherlock gulped, averting his gaze, but Joan kept him close, her fingers never leaving his stubbled cheek “I’m so sorry about what happened, Sherlock, I really am, and I would’ve given you time to tell me the story yourself. I promise you; he will pay for what he did. But you can rest now, they didn’t do anything to me”</p><p>Sherlock seemed to be observing her, taking stock of the expression of her eyes, the angry blue and purple colour of the bruise on her cheek, the reddened skin around her cut… he seemed to be assessing the damage inflicted to her partner, her caregiver. Her Joanie. She smiled softly, nuzzling him before she pecked his cheek. Sherlock gave in and placed his head against her shoulder again, holding her tight against him. They held on a bit longer until Sherlock cleared his throat and let her go.</p><p>“I’ll run you a bath, Watson, I… I’m sure you’re dying to get clean” he whispered, his voice strained and scurrying to get away. He disappeared upstairs without once looking at her.</p><p>She was momentarily taken aback, baffled at Sherlock’s evident escape, until all the pieces fell into place. </p><p>Only mere days ago, even though it felt like a lifetime, Sherlock had started to regress consciously. They did it in the comfort and safety of their home, still learning how to treat each other when he was little, they were aware it was going to be a long process. Joan knew, if the first accidental regression was any indication, that this particular case was going to put a strain on him, and after they had open the door to using regression to cope with his emotions, feelings and past trauma, she knew he would exponentially need to be little more than ever. She was preparing for that. </p><p>However, Joan being taken away had not only left Sherlock without a caregiver, but he had also been forced to be big and not regress, for his sake but also hers, and now he was still fighting the urges. He was feeling guilty, he knew that at least, and judging from his avoidance of the issue she also assumed he didn’t feel entitled to be little because <em>she </em>had been kidnapped, not the other way around. </p><p>And that was precisely the point. She had been kidnapped, yes, and she couldn’t deny she had been afraid at times. But because of the work they did, being held hostage wasn’t something new, and for once she wasn’t held at gunpoint. It had been scary, but she was aware it could’ve been much worse if they had kept her there for longer or if Sherlock had gone to find her all by himself. Except for feeling sore and tired, though, and perhaps emotionally spent, she felt fine.</p><p>She knew there was the possibility of being in shock, after all, she was a doctor and could see the signs. But she didn’t feel them in herself. She had been through a scary situation, like many others she had been through before, and she had the inkling it had been far worse for Sherlock than for her.</p><p>“Bath is ready” Sherlock’s voice, which came from upstairs, took her from her reverie. She shook her head and walked upstairs to the bathroom, trying to clear her mind. Sherlock was waiting for her at the landing and he avoided her gaze when he gestured with his arm towards the bathroom door.</p><p>She let his avoidance slide for the time being, smiling at the nice smell coming from the bathroom. Yes, a bath would do wonders for her aching muscles and joints and the lingering tension in her mind.</p><p>She got in and closed the door behind her, undressing with care and taking stock of how her body felt. She was aching and knew she needed a long night of sleep, but apart from that and the bruise of his cheek and the cut on her forehead, everything seemed to be well enough. So, she jumped into the bathtub and allowed the warm water and the vanilla scented candles Sherlock had placed around the room to relax her. She smiled warmly at how thoughtful he’d been, knowing she loved vanilla and helped her calm her mind.</p><p>She allowed herself a bit of time to find peace within her, and then she cleaned herself and got out of the bathtub. She went to her room wrapped only in her towel and rummaged through her clothes until she found the fluffiest, most comfortable pair of sweatpants and oversized jumper she could find. She looked at it briefly and wondered whether it was a present or if she had stolen it from Sherlock when doing the laundry, because she had no memory of buying it. She shrugged and put it on anyway, it was too big for her, so it was definitely Sherlock’s, and it fitted around her like a soft hug. The thought made her smile. </p><p>When she went downstairs she found Sherlock in the library, trying to put some order in the mess he’d made. The table was back in its place and Sherlock was now collecting all the sheets of paper and books he had thrown to the floor in his desperation and frustration.</p><p>“Leave that, Sherlock. We’ll do that tomorrow” she whispered. He turned around and looked at her, still his eyes stopping on her forehead, but she smiled and held out her hand “come here”</p><p>Sherlock took her hand and allowed Joan to pull him against her, hugging him again and drawing him near. She didn’t know why but she started shushing next to his ear, whispering sweet, calming words to him.</p><p>Sherlock inhaled her hair, allowing the smell of her shampoo to tell him that she truly was here, alive and safe. It took mere seconds for him to break down and hide his face against her neck, tears finally welling up in his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Joan coaxed him to sit on the floor, Sherlock straddling her and pressing his face against her neck. He was crying and his shoulders heaved with each wracking sob, but he wasn’t falling into little space yet. Joan could feel the way he was grabbing her, it wasn’t as open and vulnerable as it was when he was little. He was fighting against his instincts, he really was trying to be big, to not fall into little space, but it was taking all he had. </p><p>“Sherlock, let go… I’m safe, I’m home…” she whispered, easing him into being little “don’t fight it…”  </p><p>She fell silent when she felt Sherlock shudder against her, his legs and arms surrounding her midsection with need and fright, and she could do nothing else but to hold him and allow him to cry it all out.</p><p>She started rocking him back and forth, rubbing his back with her fingers while she nuzzled his temple. She didn’t try to make Sherlock stop his crying, these past two days had put a lot of pressure on both of them but particularly on Sherlock, who had seen his recently discovered means of escape being severed right when he most needed it. So, she allowed him to sob silently against her, and when his face shifted to one side and moved a bit closer to her chest to listen to her heart, one of her hands went towards his cheek and began wiping them away with her fingertips. </p><p>“I can’t do this… it’s not right…” Sherlock’s voice said, and it sounded very… adult. She couldn’t say she was surprised; she could recognize the distinct ways little Sherlock cried or hugged her and she knew he was still holding back, but she didn’t think it would take this much effort to convince him to let go. </p><p>“Why not?” she asked, methodically rubbing imaginary circles on his back. She tried to keep her tone devoid of any surprise or judgement.</p><p>“Th-this… you’ve…” he stopped for a moment, trying to find the right words. She could feel his anxiety riling inside him, his hands never stopping their motions behind her back. Then he pulled away slightly, enough to look at her in the eye, and his voice went deeper than she’d heard it before “Joan, you’ve been taken for two days. You can’t be the one to… comfort me, when it’s you who’ve been in hell”</p><p>There it was. He’d finally admitted it aloud. Joan had deduced the reason for his reluctancy, of course, but she wanted him to admit it, and there it was. Joan smiled sweetly and cupped his face with her hands, gently scratching his beard. He had obviously disregarded his personal hygiene and had forgotten to shave, but honestly, she quite liked his stubbly beard. </p><p>“I wasn’t in hell, Sherlock. Not really. They were looking for you, not me” Joan whispered in a gentle voice “that’s why they didn’t hurt me, just you knowing they had me was enough to rile you up.”</p><p>“They were right”</p><p>“And that’s precisely my point” Joan stated. Sherlock looked at her bewildered, and she nuzzled his nose with hers “I was taken prisoner, yes, but that’s hardly something new for us. I’m not in shock, I’m not suffering from trauma, I’m not hurt. I’m just relieved to be home with my little man”</p><p>She smiled with her words and Sherlock blushed slightly, his cheeks growing a delicate pink shade.</p><p>“These two days have been hell for you, though. I can tell. I don’t need Marcus or Gregson to tell me, I don’t even need to see the state of this room”</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“Because I know you, Sherlock Holmes. And I know those big, sad eyes” she hummed. Then her voice grew more serious “I’m sorry this had to happen right when we were starting to use regression to help you, and I understand if you’re averse to it now and want to take a step back. I just want you to know that I’m okay, I know you need to be little but don’t want to because you feel you should be comforting me. But you don’t have to hold back on my account”</p><p>“It just… doesn’t feel right. I feel… irresponsible. Selfish. Guilty…” he didn’t continue but he had the expression of someone collecting his thoughts, so Joan kept silent. Still, her hands resumed scratching the back of his head with her nails, and Sherlock closed his eyes momentarily, shuddering “you there, thrown in a cell, alone and without knowing what they would do to you to get to me. And all I wanted; all I could think of… was how I wanted you to hold me again…” </p><p>Sherlock’s voice broke and he fell silent, a couple of rebel tears rolled down his cheeks, but Joan captured them. She couldn’t see Sherlock suffering anymore, he had gone through enough on his own, she didn’t want to be the reason he felt regression was not for him. </p><p>“You weren’t selfish, Sherlock, and sure as hell aren’t guilty” Joan started, pulling him away slightly so that they could look at each other “what we started a few days ago has created a new dimension in our relationship, and we haven’t explored it yet. It’s normal you feel this pull to me, I feel it too”</p><p>Sherlock locked eyes with her, narrowing in disbelief. </p><p>“All I thought of in the darkness was the way it felt when I could hold you” she whispered with warmth “I love my little boy as much as I love my big man, remembering the feelings when we cuddle helped me greatly. They thought they had me, but they didn’t, my mind was here. With you. And remembering how adorable you look with that paci in your mouth…” she added in a joking tone.</p><p>Sherlock effectively blushed at her words and looked away, embarrassed. </p><p>“I’m not <em>adorable</em>” he mumbled under his breath, his voice low and shy. She simply chuckled.</p><p>“Of course you are. You’re my adorable, little detective” her smile grew wider and she poked him on his ribs with her finger, managing to get a small smile out of him, the tension in him easing significantly. Then she noticed something on his chest, and placed her hand on top of his heart, right on his breast pocket.</p><p>“Do you have it?” she asked, and Sherlock didn’t need to ask what she was talking about. He put a hand in the pocket and took the pacifier out of its secret place and held it in his open palm, looking at it with both respect and fear. How something so small could mean so much, he couldn’t say. </p><p>“I’ve been wearing it the whole time you weren’t here. It… helped. In managing” Sherlock whispered.</p><p>“You can put it in, honey. It’s alright” she coaxed in a delicate voice “I’m here now. You can let go; I promise I won’t leave your side”</p><p>She took the pacifier in her hand and held it against his mouth, still giving him the choice to do as he pleased. She knew Sherlock needed this, she knew it would help, but as she had discovered from the beginning of their relationship, you can’t force someone to get help, they have to want it. And so, she waited, holding the dummy close to Sherlock’s mouth and watching him. His eyes went from the pacifier to her, and he gulped, looking in her eyes for something. Confirmation, permission? Joan didn’t exactly know, but the next moment Sherlock’s lips were closing around the rubber of the pacifier, holding it inside his mouth and sucking avidly, his eyes closed but his body straight as a ramrod.</p><p>“I’m here” she whispered, her hand cupping his left cheek and her thumb caressing the bags under his eyes “you can let go, baby…”</p><p>And finally, finally, Joan could sigh with relief when Sherlock’s face found refuge in her neck, his entire body shuddering and shaking. Her arms surrounded him and pulled him against her, wanting nothing more than to ease his pain and sorrow, wanting to finally dispel Sherlock’s painful memories and replace them with new, fond and affectionate ones. And together, they would. For now, she would hold him and let him air his hurt and pain out, resting her cheek against his temple and closing her eyes.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock and Joan are reunited and back at the brownstone, but they have to deal with the aftermath of Joan's abduction. </p><p>Or, Sherlock being little and emotional, and Joan trying her best to comfort her baby.<br/>ENJOY!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>DEAR READERS!<br/>This goes out to Gaby @MusicalProstituteMyDear. If you have read her fic "Itsy Bitsy Detective", there's a reference to her fic, let's see who catches it!<br/>Besides that, enjoy baby Sherlock! Be advised, lots of crying ensues!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joan woke up the following morning with sounds of soft whimpering next to her. She opened her eyes, realizing she’d forgotten to draw the curtains the previous night, and saw Sherlock clutching at the pillow with one hand, his thumb firmly place in his mouth while he silently sobbed, saliva dripping out of his lips and down his hand. He must’ve lost the pacifier in his sleep and couldn’t find it.</p><p>“Oh honey, what’s wrong?” she whispered sweetly, her hand moving towards one of his cheeks to dry his tears, but Sherlock just sobbed. His eyes were closed and as soon as he noticed Joan moving, he threw himself at her, grabbing her pyjamas tightly in his fingers, and she noticed he was shaking “hey, baby it’s okay…”</p><p>She patted the nappy he had put on Sherlock the night before and realized it was wet to the point of leaking. That must’ve been what woke Sherlock up and made him cry, he was wet and uncomfortable.</p><p>“It’s okay Sherlock, I’ll change your nappy in no time” she cooed, and she tried to move, but Sherlock was having none of it. When she tried to get up Sherlock clutched at her with more force and his sobs, silent until now, became audible wailings. She couldn’t say she hadn’t been expecting some sort of breakdown like this, it was bound to happen, particularly after the ordeal they’d gone through the last couple of days and Sherlock fighting his urges. But it broke her poor caregiver heart to see him so distraught and desperate for contact and affection, it seemed to Joan as if he had lived without it for so long he felt he was going to drown without it now.</p><p> So, Joan sat down in the bed and drew the overgrown boy closer to her, shushing and whispering in his ear. She didn’t know if Sherlock registered what she said, but she tried to maintain a reassuring, calming tone, knowing he was very attuned to her voice and its tonality. He allowed to sit on her lap and straddle her, his legs around her torso and his face hidden against his neck. She rubbed Sherlock’s back while she embraced him tightly, rocking him back and forth and placing sweet kisses on his head and temple, giving him time.</p><p>When Sherlock was sufficiently calm, she ended their embrace but only to cup his face with both hands. His eyes were red-rimmed and full of tears, his face all wet and his nose had dripped mucus that was spreading to his hand along with saliva.</p><p>“Oh, Sherlock, yucky” she whispered. Reaching to the nightstand with one hand she grabbed paper tissues she knew Sherlock had and took a couple in her fingers. She gently used the tissues to dry his cheeks and eyes, applying just a slight pressure. Then she moved his hand away from his mouth, his thumb emitting a “plop” sound when she took it out of his mouth. He whimpered again, trying to put his thumb between his lips, but Joan shushed while she gently pushed the hand away.</p><p>“You’re all yucky Sherlock. That’s what the pacifier is for” she gently commented while she cleaned up his hand and face. She then took another paper tissue and placed it on Sherlock’s nose “blow for me, sweetie”</p><p>Sherlock did and Joan used all the paper tissue left to wash away mucus and saliva from his face. Then she located the pacifier, half-hidden between both their pillows, and she picked it up and put it inside Sherlock’s mouth, who started to suck with urgency.</p><p>“It’s alright…” she whispered, smothering and playing with his hair. It was obvious he wasn’t alright though, his eyes were still sad and scared, and while he wasn’t sobbing anymore, he was emitting soft whimpers like a sad puppy even when sucking his pacifier. She held him a bit longer until she felt she could safely lay him back on the bed. She knew Sherlock needed reassurance that she wasn’t going to leave, so she laid down next to him on the bed and passed her arm around his stomach, pulling him against her. He closed his eyes and suckled on the dummy, emitting soft sucking sounds that relaxed both of them.</p><p>“I’m going to change you, honey, you’ll see you’ll feel better. And then, we’ll go to eat some breakfast, okay?” Sherlock didn’t respond but he didn’t move to clutch at her either, so she assumed it was safe enough to get up from the bed and pick up the essentials. Sherlock was extremely wet and she feared he would get a rash if she wasn’t careful, so she picked some baby cream along with wipes and a new, clean nappy.</p><p>She then tended to the process of changing him, cooing and speaking to Sherlock the entire time. Her movements were precise and gentle as if she had been changing nappies all her life, and Sherlock kept staring at her while she worked. He complied when she pushed his legs up to place the new nappy under his bum, but he was still tense, she could tell. So, while she applied some cream to his already red parts, she started to hum a melody. She didn’t remember what song it was, but it seemed to calm him, and when they locked eyes after she had fastened the tapes, he was looking at her with a soft expression on his face.</p><p>“Done! Come on, let’s get breakfast, you must be starving” she chirped happily.</p><p>Sherlock simply stretched his arms, requesting to be held, and Joan complied. She sat on the bed and pulled him into an embrace, rubbing his back and sweetly grazing his forehead with her lips. When his stomach started to rumble she pushed him away slightly and laughed.</p><p>“See? You need breakfast, your tummy is complaining!” and with that, she offered both her hands. Sherlock took them and she pulled him out of bed, gently guiding him out of the room and towards the stairs.</p><p>They walked down the two flights of stairs towards the kitchen, and when they got in Joan made him sit on one of the chairs. She had already realized Sherlock was feeling particularly little today, if his neediness, body language and refusal to speak was any indication, and it really came as no surprise to her; although she hoped she could be up to the task of caring of a little infant.</p><p>She set up to prepare breakfast, a nice nourishing porridge with only a pinch of sugar for Sherlock; and a pair of peanut butter toast and coffee for her. Sherlock was sitting on one of the chairs, balancing himself but he seemed bored, so Joan did the only thing she could think of: she grabbed the other half of the banana she hadn’t used to make his porridge and gave it to him. She knew he would make a mess but at least he was entertained while she kept an eye on the toast and the porridge, and a mess he did. By the time Joan had turned around to place the bowl of porridge in front of him, sprinkled with cinnamon on top, Sherlock had squashed the banana in his hands and the fruit was all over him.</p><p>“It seems your pyjamas also wanted banana” she commented, hiding a laugh, while she went to clean his hands and pyjama. He was looking down, not really locking eyes with her, and he seemed to be embarrassed, but she spoke with a soft voice “Sherlock, you’re not in any trouble. I gave you the banana knowing you would make a mess, it’s alright”</p><p>He looked up at her with narrowed eyes, as if he was suspicious that she was lying, but she just smiled and smoothed his hair with one hand.</p><p>“Come on, eat” she instructed, gesturing at the porridge with her head.</p><p>But as she placed her own toast on a plate and turned around with her breakfast in her hands, it was obvious that he wasn’t going to. He had taken a spoon in his hand, but he was refusing to look at the porridge as if he wasn’t allowed to touch it, not even look at it. She sighed, realizing with every step further in Sherlock’s regression that there was a lot of trauma and past convictions she would have to tackle with him.</p><p>With a soft smile, she grabbed her own spoon, filled it with porridge and moved it in the proximity of Sherlock’s mouth. His amazed, wide eyes went from the spoon to her, and she smiled again, encouraging him to open his mouth. He did, she put the spoon inside, and his expression changed immediately. His eyes closed shut, his lips drawing a soft smile while he chewed, and she knew he found the porridge exquisite. She laughed under her breath; adult Sherlock would never enjoy a simple pleasure of the taste of a good meal. For him, food was only sustenance for his body, much the same as sex. Joan wouldn’t describe porridge as yummy, exactly, but Sherlock seemed to enjoy the taste, which was enough for her.</p><p>Joan kept feeding Sherlock his porridge, allowing him to hit the bowl with his spoon a few times, splashing porridge everywhere until there was the same amount on his pyjamas and her own clothes. He laughed every time the porridge went flying everywhere, and while she knew that he shouldn’t be allowed to do that, she couldn’t help but stop herself from scolding him whenever he giggled. For once, she decided to let him get away with it; splashing porridge wasn’t that bad after all. After he was done, she proceeded to clean them both a bit, before she ate her own, already cold breakfast while Sherlock played with the spoon and empty bowl.</p><p>After breakfast, she thought he could use a bit of entertainment and decided to go to the media room and bring Sherlock’s toys for him to play. They still hadn’t had time to look at those and she had no idea what Sherlock had bought, so she picked the boy up from his seat, pushing him up to his feet. Sherlock was taller and stronger than her, so it was physically impossible to pick him up and carry him up the stairs towards the media room, but he could pass her arm around his waist and lead him. Sherlock followed, allowing her to guide her through the brownstone with ease until they got to the media room. Joan made the boy sit in front of the TVs, switching on two or three at the same time, she thought perhaps all of them were a bit too much for his little headspace.</p><p>“Sherlock, I’ll go pick up your toys, I’ll be right back” she called, though Sherlock didn’t respond, his eyes already transfixed on the screens.</p><p>She walked to his bedroom and picked up the wooden chest, it was beautiful, childlike but discreet, and took it to the media room. She gathered it must’ve taken her a couple of minutes, but by the time she got back, Sherlock was looking towards the door, his hands tight in fists rubbing his eyes and with tears running down his cheeks. Bells started to ring inside her head, what could’ve possibly happened in the two minutes she had been away?</p><p>“Baby, what happened?” she asked urgently, scared upon seeing him in this state.</p><p>But before she had time to think, Sherlock flung himself towards her legs and grabbed them, hiding his face and sobbing. Joan’s heart broke, understanding crossing her mind: he was scared she had disappeared, even when she had told him where she was going, and it was a short time. He probably just wasn’t listening, and he’d thought he was all alone.</p><p>She sat on the floor in front of Sherlock and wasn’t surprised when he threw himself at her, his strong arms around her neck and his face hidden in his hair, audibly crying.</p><p>“Sherlock I’m here, I didn’t leave…” she tried to say but Sherlock would have none of it, he curled up against her with more force and sobbed. He spat out the pacifier, which fell onto the floor with a soft thud, but neither of them cared. His wails were heart-breaking and loud, it was probably the first time he had cried so loudly, and while Joan was partly relieved that he was allowing himself to be little and cry with no restraints, his little boy’s cries were smashing her heart into pieces.</p><p>She cuddled him with no intention of letting go until gradually his sobs began to transform into whimpers. Eventually, they stopped, only soft hiccups would come up from time to time. She held him the entire time of his breakdown, making sure he knew he wasn’t alone; she was with him. But all the time she wondered with anger and remorse how many times Sherlock had had a breakdown such as this, either as a boy or as an adult, and he’d had to calm himself down, with nobody to hold him and be there for him.</p><p>A while later Sherlock was calm enough that he allowed Joan to move his face away from its hiding face and wipe away his tears with her thumbs, looking at him in the eyes. She knew Sherlock’s expressions and quirks like the palm of her hand, after so many years living and working together, but she was still thrown off guard when she looked into the little boy’s dark green eyes and could read every single emotion in them. Being little for Sherlock meant doing away with all the walls and filters he’d put on over the years, and for Joan, what told her, more than anything, what Sherlock was feeling was his eyes.</p><p>She felt her stomach clench uncomfortably when she looked at them and saw a profound sadness, stealing away all possibility of hope or happiness. He gazed at her without attempting to keep her close, just observing passively what she was doing. It felt to her like he had already accepted he was going to be alone and was impassively observing his surroundings without interfering, defeated.</p><p>Her hand went towards his soft hair and started to play with it, smoothing its edges. She leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on his forehead, lingering for longer while she felt his soft, manly skin on her lips.</p><p>“I won’t leave you, Sherlock” she promised, knowing it wouldn’t be the last time she spoke those words, just saying them didn’t make them true for the boy. Now that he was little, she could see the depths of what his mother’s death and his father’s neglect had really done to him, and it was obvious that her being taken away just had added to the trauma. She sighed, knowing she would have to work hard to make infant Sherlock trust her words, but she would try anyway.</p><p>When the boy was calmer Joan opened up her legs as far as they could go and made Sherlock turn around and sit between them, his body very close to hers, her chest gently brushing against his back. Then, she reached to the toy chest on her right and opened it up with one hand, grabbing the first thing that she could get her hands on.</p><p>One by one, she started to pull all the toys out of the chest and put them within Sherlock’s grasp, to grab and play as he wanted. There were not many, just a few wooden cubes with letters, a plush toy that closely resembled Clyde but Joan refrained from saying so, and a rattle that had the shape of an oversized bee. She smiled, starting to see a pattern here.</p><p>He was still taller than her, even when sitting, so she had to crane her neck to look at Sherlock and what he was doing over his shoulder. At first, he inspected each of the items one by one, grabbing them in his hands, bringing them close to his eyes, shaking them. She couldn’t see his eyes, but his body eased in tension and she was almost sure he was smiling when he heard the bee rattle. He kept shaking it, listening to the toy’s sound again and again. Suddenly, he turned his body around and forced his neck to look at her while holding the toy towards Joan.</p><p>“Oh, that’s quite nice! Do you like the sound, honey?” she asked, encouraging him, and he smiled with glee while shaking it again.</p><p>Feeling satisfied he was being appeased, at least for now, she let him play and wander in his little world. Her hands kept going to his back from time to time, rubbing up and down to remind him that she was there, and every time Sherlock showed her something, she answered him and asked him questions to prompt him to keep playing. He wasn’t speaking, not even trying to babble something, so that told her he was feeling incredibly little today, but it was to be expected after all.</p><p>A long while later Sherlock was still playing with his toys, Joan had managed to sit back a few feet away to rest her back on the wall, still close to him but not so much. She was still feeling tired and sore and the position she had chosen to begin playing with Sherlock hadn’t been the best one, but now she was content to rest her back against the wall and observe the boy play.</p><p>It was fascinating to see Sherlock so inside his little world. The pacifier was in his mouth again, and quite surprisingly, his motor skills had turned exactly as you would expect from an infant. He didn’t have too much strength on his hands and the toys fell to the floor quite often, but he didn’t get frustrated, he took it like something that simply happened and picked the toy again, making sure it wouldn’t fall off his hands this time.</p><p>By lunchtime he was playing with the cubes, moving them and creating walls and towers and then smashing them to the ground, giggling with glee every time he did. At one point he turned around to look at Joan and stretched his arms, opening and closing his hands in a clear indication for her to hold him. Joan did, crawling towards him and sitting down next to him. She was about to open her legs again to let him sit between them, as they’d done before, when Sherlock surprised her. He climbed onto her lap, sitting sideways and resting his head against her shoulder. Then he pointed repeatedly at the tower he had built with the blocks.</p><p>Joan smiled and in a swift movement she smashed it, making it crumble to the ground, and her smile went wider when Sherlock clapped his hands and laughed, looking at her through his green eyes. They weren’t glistening, not yet, but the overwhelming sadness and loneliness Joan had seen before had diminished considerably. Joan sighed in relief, maybe she was doing this right.</p><p>Soon, Sherlock started to yawn and rub at his eyes repeatedly, and she knew he was getting tired.</p><p>“Okay, little man” she said, getting up from the floor “now it’s a change, lunch and a nap for you”</p><p>Sherlock, who apparently had already foreseen what could happen, had placed a few stashed nappies all around different rooms of the house, along with some wipes. So, she pushed him down into a lying position and quickly changed him. It wasn’t too wet, but because he would be taking a nap later, she’d rather change him before lunch so he could sleep more comfortably. God knew he needed to rest.</p><p>After changing, during which Sherlock had been an agreeable baby and hadn’t made much of a fuss, she offered both his hands and pulled him up from the floor, taking the rattle with her while they started their descent towards the kitchen. If it was another day she would’ve gone to the kitchen alone to prepare lunch and then would’ve come to pick him up, but she didn’t want to risk another bout of tears, so she simply took Sherlock with her to the kitchen and hoped he could be entertained while she cooked.</p><p>Lunch went much like breakfast, with Joan spoon-feeding her little scientist until he was full. He took his time to chew the food, and so it took double the time for both of them to eat their lunch. By the time Joan had finished Sherlock was fussy and cranky, he was whimpering slightly and pouting while he rubbed his tired eyes.</p><p>“Come on Sherlock. Naptime for you” she whispered gently, taking his hands and pulling him up from the chair.</p><p>And that’s when the tantrum began.</p><p>She didn’t know if it had been her words, if Sherlock didn’t want to go to sleep, or if it was precisely his exhaustion that caused it, but before she could realize it, Sherlock was on the floor kicking his legs and arms and screaming bloody murder. He kicked one of the chairs by accident, which increased the volume of his howls, now louder than a banshee.</p><p>She was at a loss and scared shitless for this rapid change in Sherlock’s mood, and no matter how she tried to pull him up to a seating position, he kept kicking and shrieking. Nothing she said had any effect on the boy, who probably couldn’t hear her over his screams. She held his wrists with her hands, at least trying that he didn’t hurt himself, but at one point he grabbed her arm, and without warning, his teeth grabbed the skin and bit it, so strongly that they left an angry red mark.</p><p>Joan screamed and yanked her arm away on instinct, and Sherlock kept screaming and kicking, seemingly oblivious to what he had just done.</p><p>Her first instinct was to shout his name to make him stop and then take him to the room as punishment. But she forced herself to stop and think. Why had Sherlock done that? She looked at the still screaming child for a second and saw why. He was tired, he’d gone through hell, probably a thousand emotions were coursing through him right now and he simply didn’t have the means to control or contain them. Punishing him now, right after his tantrum, would likely have a negative effect on him.</p><p>So, Joan decided to sit down on the floor and wait. Sherlock was still screaming but he wasn’t kicking anymore, that told her he was calming down a bit. Joan knew it was impossible to make him stop crying and listen to her when he was like this, so she simply waited it out. Now that he wasn’t kicking his legs and flailing his arms she was sitting close to him, so close that he could notice her presence even though they weren’t touching.</p><p>After a while, his cries died down and all that was left was an overgrown boy with tears on his eyes and cheeks. Low whimpers kept blurting out now and again, but shortly afterwards Joan felt it was safe to touch him. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder, and at the gesture, Sherlock’s sad eyes turned to her.</p><p>She stretched her arms in a clear invitation, and Sherlock didn’t need to be asked twice to jump to her arms and sob against her. She held him tight, rubbing his back.</p><p>“I know you’re tired, Sherlock, that’s why you can’t stop” she cooed “we’ll go take a nap soon…”</p><p>She kept shushing next to his ear, gently rocking him like you would a baby, and soon he was calm enough.</p><p>“Sherlock” she said, pushing his face away from her shoulders “I know you’re tired and I know you want to sleep. But you bit me, and biting is not allowed.”</p><p>She showed Sherlock the red, angry mark on her forearm, and she noticed him recoil against her.</p><p>“Now, I’ll put you into time-out, because hurting others is never okay. Come with me”</p><p>Joan got up from the floor and offered her hand, which Sherlock took reluctantly. Together they walked to the furthest corner of the kitchen, between the door of the guest bedroom and the kitchen cupboards, just opposite the door. Joan placed Sherlock facing the wall and then went back a few steps and retrieved one of the chairs. She placed it facing the wall. Sherlock was observing her through sad eyes, tears already welling up again, and she was awfully close to foregoing time-out entirely. But there were certain things she was willing to turn a blind eye to, and some others she wasn’t, and biting was definitely crossing a line.</p><p>“You bit me and biting is not allowed. So, I want you to sit here and stay until I come and get you” Joan said, her voice calm and steady “I will leave the room and when I return, your time-out will have finished. Understood?”</p><p>He was already sniffling and whimpering, rubbing his tired eyes, but he looked down at his lap. He seemed sorrowful, but she had to do this, or he would think he could get away with anything while being little. She sighed and walked away from the room with a heavy heart. She didn’t have the stomach to leave, actually, she only walked a couple of paces but enough for Sherlock to think he was alone in the room.</p><p>For a moment she wondered if she was doing the correct thing, after all, Sherlock was so little that she didn’t know he would perfectly understand why he was being punished, but she couldn’t turn a blind eye on biting so early in his regression, or this would become a big problem later on.</p><p>She was only out of the kitchen for a couple of minutes, not really wanting to scare the little boy and make him think she had left for good. And those were, honestly, the two hardest, longest minutes of her life. She stood very still against the wall, listening intently for Sherlock’s screams or loud cries, but she could hear nothing. That was even more worrying that the loud tantrum he had just thrown, and after two minutes she went back in.</p><p>And thank god she did, because as soon as she walked to the kitchen again, her heart dropped to her feet. Sherlock was sitting on the chair as instructed, his knees against his chest and his face hidden. Now that she was back inside the kitchen he could hear his soft, sad whimpers.</p><p>“Sherlock? It’s okay honey, your time-out is over” she said as she walked towards him.</p><p>However, as soon as she turned around to face the child, her heart clenched violently inside her and she choked back tears when she saw Sherlock’s expression: it was a mixture between terror and sadness. His eyebrows raised as soon as he registered her presence and in a second he jumped from the chair and flung himself at Joan, hiding his face against her neck and sobbing violently and loudly. She managed to stabilize him enough so that neither of them fell to the floor, and gently coaxed him to sit on the ground.</p><p>Joan gathered him in her arms, allowing him to sit sideways while she supported his back, holding him close and rocking him, his whole body heaving with wracking sobs. At one point he coughed and gasped for air. He kept muttering something, and Joan paid attention but when she understood what it was, she almost wished she hadn’t.</p><p>“Ma… ma…”</p><p>Sherlock hadn’t said a word in all day, so she couldn’t be sure that’s what he was saying instead of just sputtering syllables, but she could’ve sworn he was calling for his mum. The desperation and grief with which he sobbed said as much, and Joan was momentarily scared of his red, scrunched up face of how he had worked himself up. Her heart broke for her poor baby, and she held him tighter against her, shushing against his ear.</p><p>“Honey, calm down… Joanie’s here, it’s okay…” she soothed with gentle fingers and a sweet voice.</p><p>She knew she should talk to him about the time-out and biting, but now clearly wasn’t the time, she would have to do that at a later date. So, she simply talked to him, her voice soft and warm, hoping it was comforting to him. She told him why she would never leave, that he had done something wrong and she wanted him to learn, but she would never abandon him.</p><p>With her soft words, she tried to make him listen, and after a while, Sherlock’s cries started to quiet down, seemingly exhausted. His body went limp against hers and she held him, supporting his back with her arm while his face was hidden against his neck.</p><p>It was tough to see Sherlock like that. Every time she tried to make a move his body tensed, and another bout of tears and sobs would start, leaving him even more exhausted and emotionally spent than before.</p><p>It was like he was terror-stricken, and Joan had still to know why. Perhaps he did understand that what he’d done was bad, but his reaction was a bit much, she thought. No kid cried so much and with so much terror over such a simple time-out, so it had to be something else.</p><p>Did he think she was going to leave because of what he had done? Suddenly Joan considered Sherlock’s past and saw that, in fact, it was entirely possible and highly likely that he had been abandoned before because of his behaviour. He had vaguely told her once about the string of nannies that would come to take care of him and Mycroft, but none of them stayed for long. At 8 years old he was shipped off to boarding school, and at that tender age, he had to learn to fend for himself. His mother had died a while after going to school, and so in a matter of perhaps a couple of years, Sherlock’s entire world and support system were destroyed.</p><p>Joan considered all of this, added with the fact that she was convinced he had been crying out for his mother; and she clearly saw that leaving Sherlock alone, in any circumstances but especially in time-outs and other punishments, wasn’t going to be an option for the foreseeable future. She watched Sherlock’s body language for confirmation of her suspicions, and her stomach churned uncomfortably when she noticed how he was still whimpering, grief-stricken about what he’d done, but also terrified of being alone. His hands were grabbing her clothes in tight fists, his entire body limp against her, not one inch of him was away from her, and he was hiding his face. Every time she tried to move his sobs would come back, it was as though he knew he was going to be left alone and didn’t want to face the moment.</p><p>“Sherlock” Joan called, using a soft tone. He didn’t react, his face still hidden against her neck and covered by her black hair. She cupped his cheek and wiped his tears, caressing the skin with her thumb in an attempt to bring him to the present and take him out of his more than obvious dark mental space “honey, look at me please”</p><p>He didn’t want to and started whining again, but finally, Joan could make him take his face out of its hiding place. He looked as miserable as he was probably feeling, his face blotchy and his eyes red and bulgy. She grabbed his face with both hands, to clean his tears with her thumbs but also to make him look at her straight in the eyes.</p><p>“Sherlock, I’m not mad” she said. She knew she had to explain it in simple terms, and still wasn’t sure Sherlock would understand, but she had to try anyway “I know you’re sorry and that’s enough for me. But no matter how many naughty things you do, I love you and I’m never, ever going to leave you”</p><p>Sherlock whimpered, but for the first time, he seemed to react to her words. One of his hands rubbed his eyes tiredly and looked at her with a question in his eyes, so innocent she almost burst into tears.</p><p>“I promise, honey. I’ll always be here” she whispered encouragingly.</p><p>Sherlock nodded and his face went again to its hiding place against Joan’s neck, but this time he seemed calmer. Sad still, but calmer and more appeased. Joan, though, was hurting at seeing him so unhappy and hadn’t sat well with her that he was so terrified she was going to leave. She wanted to do something for her little boy whom she loved so much. Then, she had an idea.</p><p>Sherlock had already brought a couple of his bottles down to the kitchen and had hidden them in one of the cupboards, away from prying eyes but within reach if he needed them, and Joan thanked him for his forward-thinking. When she could finally move without Sherlock whimpering, she stood up pulling the boy up with her and grabbing his hand she went towards the cupboard.</p><p>“I’m going to get you a bottle ready, okay baby? I think this will help” she whispered with a soft smile, hiding the fact that it wasn’t what she thought, but actually what she hoped it would happen.</p><p>Today, being a caregiver was not being easy. It was obvious Sherlock had a lot to work through, and his terror at being left alone and abandoned was the most urgent for Joan. She had to make him see that leaving the room didn’t mean leaving him behind, but she had the inkling that she would have to wait until he aged up a bit for him to understand. At the end of the day, his fear wasn’t completely irrational, it was founded in memories of real people who had actually hurt, abandoned or neglected him, so it wasn’t easy to convince an infant that her words were true.</p><p>When the bottle was ready, she tried the temperature on her wrist and being satisfied, she pulled Sherlock along with her. She decided against walking two flights of stairs towards their bedrooms and, instead, made for the guest bedroom next to the kitchen. She opened the door closely followed by a now silent Sherlock, and leaving the bottle on the nightstand she crawled into bed, moving the covers away and sitting with her back against the bedpost. She motioned Sherlock to come and he did, but with slow and cautious movements, as if he was scared she was going to do something any moment.</p><p>She sighed sadly, remorse filling her thoughts at seeing his reaction, and then she slowly gathered him in her arms. She made him sit on her lap sideways, like before, and then pushed him down in a semi-lying position where she could support his back and neck with one arm while holding the bottle with her other hand.</p><p>However, Sherlock didn’t seem to be in the mood for bottles, he hid his face against Joan’s tummy and refused to move it away. She could hear soft whimpers coming from his throat, he wasn’t sobbing now, just the remnants of his recent crying spell. He’d worked himself up so much that now it was hard for him to calm down completely.</p><p>Sighing, she left the bottle on the nightstand again and taking the bee pacifier from her pocket, she touched Sherlock’s cheek with it, teasingly. At first, Sherlock didn’t react, but Joan kept teasing him until he moved his face.</p><p>What he did next melted Joan’s heart. Despite making him cry, despite making him think she had abandoned him like all the others before her… Sherlock grabbed her wrist with one of his hands, placing the pacifier in his mouth, after which his fingers curled and interlaced with hers. Then, moved both their hands against his chest, above his heart, and left it there. His strong heartbeat was pulsating against her fingertips. She could sense his other hand on her back, grabbing her clothes in a fist, as if making sure she wasn’t going to dissolve into nothingness.</p><p>The small gesture of her little boy, who wanted nothing else than to be held by her despite everything, moved her to her very core; and a couple of hot, thick tears rolled from her cheeks. She blinked and locked eyes with Sherlock, his were puffy and red, and probably quite sore after so much crying, but finally he seemed to be calmer now.</p><p>“I love you, Sherlock” she whispered with a brittle voice, almost breaking. The hand that was supporting his neck went towards the back of his head and caressed his short hair, knowing it calmed him “and I will never leave you. Wherever you are, I’ll find you. Always”</p><p>She was aware that little Sherlock’s brain didn’t understand her words, he didn’t understand void promises, he only understood actions. And judging from his most recent breakdown, she wasn’t very good at some of those. But now she was also cognizant of what she had to do when he had aged up: make sure he knew, in all the stages of his life, that she wasn’t going anywhere.</p><p>After a while, Joan reached with one hand to grab the bottle and then nudged Sherlock’s fingers, which automatically curled around hers. She then delicately took the pacifier out with her pinky finger and nudged the rubber of the bottle against his lips, and Sherlock began to drink.</p><p>After a not so pleasant day, with lots of screaming and tears, Joan was exhausted. But, as she gave Sherlock his bottle and heard the calming suckling sounds he made while he drank, he looked at her in the eyes. He hadn’t spoken a single word since the day before, except for the simple syllables of calling his mum, but Joan realized he didn’t need to.</p><p>His mouth only moved to suck from the bottle but he never closed his eyes, and Joan looked directly into them. They were still quite puffy and tear-filled, but now that he was calmer, the emotions she could read in those orbs shook her to the very foundations of her soul. They were telling Joan everything she needed to know, and they spoke of fear, but also of trust, love, hope. She felt her heart explode at how vulnerable and hurt Sherlock was but also how open and trusting. He had been beaten over and over for decades, she had even let him down today. And yet, he still had the bravery to speak to her from the bottom of his heart, holding her fingers while he quietly drank his milk, and begging her not to leave him.</p><p>It was at that moment, when Sherlock didn’t speak, that Joan felt most connected to him. Their eyes told each other everything words could never convey, and the trust the little boy had put on her was a responsibility she would never take for granted. She smiled, overwhelmed by the sheer and pure love his eyes showed, as she leaned down and kissed his forehead, lingering a bit longer than necessary and nuzzling his nose with hers while he sucked on the bottle.</p><p>After the bottle was gone, she pulled him up into a sitting position and gently patted his back until he burped, making sure he wasn’t going to be sick from the milk after lunch. He kept rubbing at his eyes tiredly, and knowing he was going to doze off soon, he laid him in bed under the covers, lying next to him. He, at first, was lying on his back but soon shifted to curl up against her, his big hands grabbing her jumper in his fingers. He had found the pacifier god knows where and had placed it in his mouth, instinctively sucking and drawing comfort from it.</p><p>She smiled and hugged him tighter, wishing more than anything that she could take his pain away. It would be a long and meandering process, she was aware, but she hoped today had made some progress in battling against his trauma.</p><p>“Sleep well, honey” she whispered, leaning down and kissing his hair “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”</p><p>Soon Sherlock’s eyes fluttered close and a soft snore followed, only the sounds of his suckling were heard in the room. He was asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock and Joan keep working on his newly-found regressed state.<br/>Captain Gregson comes to visit, and Sherlock doesn't like it much...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HIII DEAR READERS!<br/>Next instalment in this fic, I hope you like it!!<br/>As usual, many thanks for the love, kudos and reviews, I appreciate every single one of them!<br/>ENJOY!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following morning Joan roused to the sounds of babyish giggling. Sherlock had woken her up in an array of ways, some of them quite abrupt and that made her heart jump in her chest, but the pure innocent sounds of his laughs brought an immediate smile to her lips. She wouldn’t mind being woken up every day like this.</p><p>Her eyes opened slowly and noticing Sherlock’s warm body moving next to her, she turned around to look at him. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, so close that his knees were touching her, and looking at her while giggling. Joan raised her eyebrows in surprise at seeing him so changed from the previous day. </p><p>“Good morning” she said, a sleepy smile plastered on her lips, her voice rough with sleep “now, what do you find so funny?”</p><p>Sherlock looked at her and pointing at her head, he laughed more, his other hand coming to his mouth to stifle the giggles.</p><p>“You look silly, Joanie!” he exclaimed. Joan looked at him, confused, and then she touched her hair. It was more tousled than usual, and judging by the happy expression on Sherlock’s face, she guessed she had a bad case of bed hair. </p><p>She passed her hands through her hair, attempting to smooth it, and that made Sherlock’s laughter grow stronger. She feigned annoyance.</p><p>“Don’t laugh at my hair, it’s perfectly fine as it is!” she exclaimed, but her eyes betrayed her. Sherlock finally stifled his laughs and untangled his legs, coming to lay down next to Joan.</p><p>“Good morning, Joanie” he said, still smiling. His eyes were clear and his expression far more relaxed and happier than the day before. It seemed that venting his fears and pain out had worked, and Joan returned the smile happily.</p><p>“Good morning, honey” she said again, kissing his forehead. Sherlock sighed before he snuggled closer to her, passing an arm around her midsection and resting his head on the same pillow as Joan, their foreheads pressing together “did you sleep well?”</p><p>Sherlock nodded, still with his eyes closed, and Joan sighed while she cuddled him. </p><p>It was as strange a situation as it came. Just a few weeks before she and Sherlock barely touched each other, it was only after they gave age regression a go that the physical aspect of their relationship also took a step forward. But when Sherlock was his adult self this physicality was, still, based on superficial grazes here and there; kissing and holding each other was reserved only for little Sherlock.</p><p>And what was Joan’s surprise when she realized that little Sherlock was actually quite cuddly! Who would’ve imagined? The thought made her smile, and it grew wider when she felt Sherlock’s relaxed breath brush against her face. She would never use regression to mock him, but the thought of a cuddly little boy, when adult Sherlock was always so stoic and adamant in not being physical, made her almost laugh. She relaxed in Sherlock’s embrace, enjoying the silence and the moment together. </p><p>“What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes?” she suggested a while later. Sherlock’s eyes opened up instantly, and he nodded repeatedly with excitement.</p><p>“Yeah, pancakes!” he exclaimed. Suddenly he sat up and started to clap, repeating the word pancakes in a singsong tone. It seemed that Sherlock was extremely happy this morning, and Joan could do nothing but observe him with relief and a smile on her lips.</p><p>The day before had been hard for both of them, and Joan had wondered a few times over the day if she really was the best for the job. After a whole day of crying and screaming, Sherlock had finally succumbed to exhaustion early in the evening and had slept through the night until now. Joan was relieved, though, if he had aged up to his current state of a toddler, it meant that he wasn’t feeling as little and vulnerable as the day before.</p><p>Joan shook her head to dispel her thoughts of the day before and smiled.</p><p>“Come on Joanie, pancakes!” Sherlock exclaimed, jumping from the bed and almost running towards the door. But Joan’s voice stopped him.</p><p>“Yes we’ll eat pancakes, but first you need a new nappy”</p><p>“But Joanie…” he whined, turning around, but Joan stood and crossed her arms.</p><p>“Sherlock, if I don’t change you now you’ll get a rash and it will hurt later. Do you want that?” she asked. He shook his head, but still, his eyes were disappointed “okay then lay on the bed and let me change you. It will be done in no time, I promise.”</p><p>Sherlock strode towards the bed with hunched shoulders and fussed a bit more when Joan started to undress him and unfastened the strips of the nappy. He was indeed wet, but he was so excited he hadn’t even noticed. Joan cleaned him and talked to him the whole time, and it seemed to calm him, by the time she’d put on his pyjamas again he was again his happy self.</p><p>Together hand in hand they opened the door and strode into the kitchen, Sherlock sat in his usual chair without help from her while she went towards the fridge and started gathering the ingredients she would need.</p><p>A ping from her phone distracted her momentarily, she barely had checked it since the night they got home. She walked to the bedroom and grabbed the phone from the bedside table, checking the message. </p><p>Reality was calling at their door again: the text was from the Captain, he was giving her a heads up and telling her he’d be coming to the brownstone later in the morning to take her statement.</p><p>She sighed, texted the Captain back and put the phone on the table. She didn’t want him to come by today, not while Sherlock was being little, but she really had no choice. Gregson had already given them plenty of time, statements were usually taken right after the incident, as it’s when your memories are fresher and more available. </p><p>Joan focused on the task at hand and prepared the pancakes while Sherlock played with his fingers while he babbled around. It didn’t take her long to prepare the batter, and he made two perfectly round pancakes, topping them with raspberries to make a smile, half a strawberry to make the nose, and a couple of blueberries for the eyes. She sprinkled it all with a bit of honey harvested from their own bees, being careful not to put too much on Sherlock’s pancakes, and served them in front of him.</p><p>His wide smile at seeing the pancakes smiling back at him was worth everything, Joan thought when he looked at her and said “thank you” in the most polite, adorable British-accented way. </p><p>“You’re welcome, honey” she answered as she leaned over Sherlock and cut his pancakes in a few smaller pieces, so he would have it easier to bite. He had more motricity than the day before, but still, better safe than sorry. She gave him a fork and a knife and, with a bit of effort, he managed to cut his pancakes into even smaller, edible pieces. </p><p>She got her coffee and sat down next to Sherlock. He, ever the child, had started chattering away, explaining Joan some story about a dinosaur. She knew he had to tell Sherlock about the visit, but she didn’t have the heart to interrupt his obviously excited monologue, so she let him talk, nodding and prodding questions until they fell into a companionable silence. </p><p>“The Captain will come around later” she commented a while later while she was finishing her coffee and Sherlock had already finished, trying to sound nonchalant. </p><p>Sherlock’s reaction was immediate. His whole body tensed, looking at her in fear, and in a second he jumped from his seat and climbed onto Joan’s lap, hugging her. She was surprised by his reaction, he wasn’t shaking or crying but he was clearly scared, and she passed an arm around his back to hold him close. </p><p>“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked, surprised. She knew Sherlock was scared of the gang men, but the Captain?</p><p>“He’s… gonna take you away and I don’t want…” his voice sounded fearful and small.</p><p>“Oh baby, he won’t take me away” Joan answered, her hand gently pushing his head down until it was against her shoulder while her fingers cradled her hair, tousling it and playing with it “he just wants me to talk and explain what happened. That’s all” she explained, rubbing Sherlock’s back with her other hand.</p><p>“Will I… can I stay?” he asked, his voice a bit tremulous. </p><p>“Of course you can, honey” she answered “but if you do, the Captain will want to know what’s happening. Are you sure you want him to know you’re little?”</p><p>Sherlock fell silent, he seemed to be pondering about it. A few seconds later, he nodded.</p><p>“He’s good, isn’t he?” he whispered, his voice small “he won’t do anything to us… will he?” he moved his head away from Joan’s shoulder and looked at her in the eyes, looking for confirmation, his eyes soft and full of hope. Joan nuzzled his nose with hers before she placed a kiss on the tip of his nose, very gently. </p><p>“No, darling, he won’t. He’s our friend” Joan reassured him with a smile “he just wants to know what happened so we can catch the bad man that did this”</p><p>Sherlock nodded once, and Joan smiled sadly.</p><p>“I’m very proud of you, Sherlock” she praised, still caressing the boy’s hair with her fingers “you’re a very brave and good boy. I’m so happy to be with you”</p><p>Sherlock’s smile at her words was brilliant, his eyes glistening with happiness, pride and a little embarrassment, and Joan fell even more in love with her little boy in her care. They hugged each other a while longer, neither of them wanting to give up the warmth and comfort of the other.</p><p>“Why don’t we go upstairs and watch some TV? Would you like that?” Joan suggested. Sherlock nodded and together they went upstairs to the media room. Joan had already moved the two chairs they normally used out of the way and grabbed one of the blankets to lay on the floor so that Sherlock could sit down without getting cold. That was something she hadn’t thought of the day before, but today it was colder and she knew he would get cold if he didn’t have something warm under his bum.</p><p>The toys were scattered from the day before, but today Sherlock didn’t pay attention to the blocks. As Joan was switching on one of the TVs his hands went straight to the little tortoise and hugged the toy against his chest.</p><p>That reminded her that she wanted to buy something for him. All the things they were using now, including the bottles and other necessary stuff, had been bought by Sherlock himself. She knew they were okay when it came to nappies, and his toys, though few, seemed to be sufficient for now. She wanted to give Sherlock something special, something he could draw comfort from whenever he was feeling scared or sad.</p><p>And then, as she sat on the chair and scanned through her phone messages while Sherlock sat on the blanket and watched some cartoons, she got it: a security blanket. A soft, fluffy blankie he could use to grab whenever she couldn’t be with him and missed her, or whenever he felt like he needed comfort. </p><p>Joan had observed Sherlock the day before, every time she disappeared from his sight he would scream and cry, and it would take her forever to calm him down. It was obvious that being little his feelings wouldn’t have a filter, and they were trying age regression in the first place because Sherlock had a lot of feelings to work through. So, Joan wasn’t surprised to discover that Sherlock was very clingy and highly dependant on her; and that he suffered from separation anxiety. He had a lot of trauma and emotional negligence to begin with and Joan knew he was bound to create this attachment to her anyway; their recent case and Joan’s abduction had only increased the problem. Sherlock was terrified when Joan wasn’t near, and she understood why, but her job was to help him. So, a blankie would provide comfort when he was feeling sad, and along with her hugs and caresses, maybe Sherlock wouldn’t get so worked up whenever he burst into tears and would take less time to calm down.</p><p>She quickly went online and bought the blankie from her phone, the bank details already registered on the website. The next day Sherlock would have his very own blankie to sleep with. The thought made her smile, imagining Sherlock’s expression at the touch of it; even when little he was very particular about smells and tactile feelings. </p><p>While Sherlock watched cartoons and laughed at what the characters were saying, as any child would do, Joan took a piece of paper and pencil and started to draw the ring his captor was wearing. She wasn’t very good at sketching, not as talented as Sherlock anyway, but she’d taken it upon herself to practise so she, at least, could do something like this. You never know when certain skills might come in handy, and learning the basics of drawing and sketching had certainly paid off. She looked at her drawing once finished: it was a big, rough-looking signet ring. The light coming from the corridor wasn’t good enough to distinguish the material it was made of but it certainly wasn’t gold, probably silver. The signet was made up of two small serpents coming out of a skull, their tongues out of their mouths. It was so realistic that if you looked at them for several seconds, you could almost see them flicking outside their mouths. </p><p>A shiver went down Joan’s spine when she looked at the drawing, and not wanting to revisit the case anymore until the Captain got to the brownstone, she left the drawing on top of a chest of drawers and went to sit with Sherlock.</p><p>“Joanie, look!” Sherlock said pointing at the TV, excited. He was watching the cartoons <em>Little Einsteins</em>, and he started to explain about Saturn and its rings. She listened intently at his tirade, nodding and gasping with surprise when Sherlock made dramatic pauses, but secretly Joan was bursting out in laughter. He really was her Sherlock, there was no doubt about it. He may have emotional outbursts, may wet his nappy and need lots of cuddles, but inside, he was the same amazing scientist with the most incredible mind she knew.</p><p>She suddenly felt really lucky and blessed to be in such a man’s life, and have their relationship work so smoothly as it did. They may have had their rocky grounds, but in recent years their friendship had gone above and beyond what anyone, including themselves, would’ve imagined. Their bond now, with Sherlock being little, had only strengthened, and Joan knew she would give her life for adult Sherlock as well as for her little detective who was now chattering away about Saturn and other planets. </p><p>She then looked at her phone, the Captain was going to arrive soon. She sighed, hating to interrupt Sherlock’s happy time.</p><p>“Sherlock, the Captain will arrive soon. Don’t you want to get dressed for his visit?” she asked. He’d been wearing the same pyjamas all day, and it was time to get properly dressed if they were going to have company. </p><p>Sherlock turned to look at her immediately, his eyes growing sad.</p><p>“But I’m having so much fun…” he whined, and Joan stretched her arm to cup his face with her hand.</p><p>“I know honey, and I’m sorry. You said you wanted to be with me, but if you want you can stay here and watch TV or play. I’ll be just downstairs” she reassured him. </p><p>She didn’t want to force him to be present when the Captain came, in fact, she would rather Gregson didn’t see him in this state, as she knew adult Sherlock would be embarrassed to be seen like this. But if Sherlock needed to be in the same room as her she wasn’t going to forbid him. Joan sensed his dilemma, he wasn’t looking at her but wasn’t looking at the TV either, just avoiding her gaze. She softly smiled and let her thumb brush against her cheek, calling his attention.</p><p>“Tell you what. Let’s get dressed so I can put the pyjama in the washer, and while we do that, you think about what you want to do. Okay?” her voice came out soft and comforting, just encouraging Sherlock and not forcing him. </p><p>Sherlock nodded and got up from the floor with the cuddly tortoise toy under his arm and close to his chest. Together they went to Sherlock’s bedroom, and he obediently laid on the bed so Joan could change him. He didn’t say a word, his previous chatter had died down with the news of the Captain’s upcoming arrival, half his face hidden behind the plush toy and his eyes unfocused. Joan hated to see him so silent. </p><p>She tried to engage him when he made him choose which T-shirt he wanted: a red one with several drawings of trains; or a blue one with a warm, yellow sun plastered on the front. He chose the latter but without enthusiasm, and once he’d put the T-shirt and some jeans on and he was sitting on the bed, Joan knew she had to do something.</p><p>“Honey, look at me please” the boy obeyed and looked at her, no tears on his eyes but having lost all sparkle. She crouched next to the bed and grabbed both his hands, gently squeezing and drawing imaginary circles on the back of his hands “you have nothing to worry about, okay? If you don’t want the Captain to see you, it’s alright, you can stay here”</p><p>“But… and you?” </p><p>“I’ll be just downstairs, and you can come with us any time you want. I promise I won’t leave” she whispered.</p><p>Sherlock seemed to be thinking. Then he stretched his arms and passed them around Joan’s neck. She leaned forward to allow Sherlock to hide is face, their upper bodies resting against each other.  </p><p>“I want to come with you” he stated, his voice muffled by his arm, where his face was hidden. Joan just pulled him closer “if I go… will we play later?”</p><p>“I promise that later if you want, we will come here and watch TV and play,” she said, kissing her cheek “now come on, let’s go downstairs”</p><p>Joan tucked the drawing in the pocket of her sweatpants, and then, decided to change clothes and be a bit more presentable. She was home and wasn’t working so she needn’t use a dress or a suit and tie, but she decided on some jeans and a clean T-shirt, and she put her hair in a messy bun. It wasn’t the best but it probably was better than her bed hair that Sherlock had laughed so much about. </p><p>Then, both she and Sherlock walked down the stairs to the ground floor, leading him to the red velvet sofa in the library while they waited for Gregson. He had fallen silent and when Joan was about to go to the study, he whined and stretched his arms, requesting to be held. He wasn’t crying but his expression told Joan everything, he was unhappy, clingy and didn’t want Gregson to come. She went towards the sofa and as soon as she sat down Sherlock climbed onto her lap and hid his face against her neck, breathing deeply. </p><p>“Honey, I know you don’t want this” she whispered, her hand finding the back of his head almost on autopilot now and her lips grazing his forehead “but if we want to catch the bad man we have to do it”</p><p>The doorbell rang suddenly, a sudden unpleasant sound that broke the silence of the brownstone. Sherlock immediately tensed, and a soft whimper escaped his lips.</p><p>“Shhhh it’s alright. Let me go let the Captain in” she whispered to Sherlock. He obediently moved to the other side of the sofa, his long legs dangling down to the floor, and she got up and went to the door.</p><p>The Captain was standing there, alone, and he had a soft smile on his lips. He seemed genuinely happy to see her. </p><p>“Hey, how are you doing?” he asked before Joan stepped aside to let him in.</p><p>“I’m alright, thanks” she answered with a soft smile, but Gregson noticed she wasn’t telling the whole truth.</p><p>“Is something wrong? How’s Sherlock?” he asked, and he deliberately lowered his voice to a mere whisper. Joan thanked him silently.</p><p>“Okay, I guess. We’re dealing with it” Joan answered honestly, shrugging her shoulders. Then, she took a step forward and whispered, gesturing the library with her head “please, don’t act surprised. Just play along, and don’t ask questions”</p><p>“What are you talking about? Why the secrecy?” Gregson asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.</p><p>“You’ll see” Joan answered. </p><p>Then she walked inside the library, closely followed by the Captain. She signalled to him so he sat down in the armchair in front of Sherlock, while Joan stayed on her feet.</p><p>Sherlock didn’t greet the Captain, he was avoiding looking at him. His eyes were cast down and he was sitting silently, his hands on his lap and clutching at his fingers, but Joan did look at him. His eyes had gone wide in alarm and his eyebrows raised impossibly high, and he looked at Joan for confirmation. She just nodded with her head, not really knowing what to do. Then, Joan was surprised to see him taking a deep, silent breath and taking just the smallest step towards Sherlock, he kneeled in front of him.</p><p>“Hey, Sherlock. How are you doing?” the Captain’s voice sounded surprisingly soft and sympathetic. He’d obviously caught up with what he’d seen in the precinct a few days ago, and even though he couldn’t see her because she was behind him, Joan looked at him gratefully.</p><p>“I’m okay” came Sherlock’s voice, small and shy. The Captain smiled to him and he tilted his head, his eyes soft.</p><p>“You don’t have to worry. I just want to know what happened to Joan in detail. I’ll be out the door in no time” he reassured the man, talking to him knowing he was, in fact, not a man but a little boy.</p><p>Sherlock nodded, but his thumb soon went towards his mouth and his lips closed around it, sucking softly. </p><p>“Sherlock, don’t do that…” Joan admonished, although her voice was soft too “where’s your paci?”</p><p>“I… I d-don’t know…” his voice sounded even smaller than before, sad and needy. Joan’s heart broke at how tearful the voice sounded, and she knew that if she didn’t find the pacifier soon, he’d be crying in no time. She wanted to avoid the situation, at least in front of the Captain, who at least seemed to be taking the new information quite well. Joan had to commend him, his initial surprise had worn off quickly and now had got up again and was just observing their exchange. But Joan had one thing in her mind: find the pacifier. </p><p>She tried to remember when Sherlock had used it for the last time. She hadn’t taken it to the media room but Sherlock had been sleeping with it. So, it must’ve been in the kitchen or the guest bedroom.</p><p>“Captain, would you like some tea? I have to go downstairs anyway. Let me get the pacifier for Sherlock” she asked Gregson, who nodded and got ready to follow her without a word. She turned to Sherlock, who was very nearly whimpering, his eyes already welling up. She crouched down in front of him, taking his hands on hers and pulling him in a soft hug, Sherlock’s hands strongly clutching at her, and she spoke with the most affectionate voice she could muster “Sherlock come with Joanie. We’ll try to find your bee dummy, okay?”</p><p>She waited until Sherlock was a bit calmer to end the hug, and together he and Joan descended the stairs towards the kitchen, closely followed by the Captain. He took a chair at the end of the table and sat down, still in silence although she could feel his eyes on them, while Joan led Sherlock towards the bedroom. She found the pacifier on the bed, they’d forgotten it there when they’d gone for breakfast.</p><p>“Here it is” she smiled triumphally when she found it. She grabbed it and without a word, she nudged the rubber against Sherlock’s mouth, which caught it and started to suck. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, a few tears had descended already down his cheeks but, hopefully, the pacifier had arrived on time to placate him “come on baby, let’s go with the Captain” she added in a soft, comforting voice.</p><p>Joan made Sherlock sit at the other end of the table, on the chair closest to the stove, while she prepared some tea. She put the kettle on, took out two mugs and set them on a tray.</p><p>“I have a drawing of the ring” Joan said casually. She produced the drawing out of her pocket and handed it to Gregson “I can’t tell you what material it was made of because of the poor lighting, but I’d say it was silver”</p><p>“Thank you, that will help”</p><p>When the tea was ready, she poured water onto the teapot, and she placed the tray on the table. She served Gregson’s mug, her own, and then sat down on the chair next to Sherlock. She didn’t fail to notice the Captain’s eyes narrowing when Sherlock, who’d been waiting patiently for Joan to finish, got up and climbed onto Joan’s lap, sitting across her legs and resting his head against her shoulder. </p><p>“It’s okay Sherlock. Relax” she whispered, rubbing his back and kissing his forehead. With a bit of luck, he’d fall asleep while they were talking.</p><p>“Can you tell me the last thing you remember before being taken?” Gregson asked. Both adults were trying to ignore the fact that an overgrown little Sherlock was there with them, and although she completely trusted the Captain and considered him a friend, she didn’t know if adult Sherlock would’ve wanted him to know just yet. She could do nothing, though, if Sherlock was in this state and needed her there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her little boy. </p><p>“Uh not much, I had talked to the manager of the shop and was about to send you the description of the man who’d gone to buy milk, when something hit me hard on the head. I lost consciousness and woke up in the cell I don’t know how many hours later” Joan explained.</p><p>She looked down to check Sherlock, he had his eyes closed but he wasn’t sleeping yet. His breathing was elaborate, his eyebrows furrowed together, and one of his hands, which was placed on Joan’s chest just atop her collarbone, was closed tight in a fist. His lips were moving against the pacifier, sucking with urgency. Her hand went to his hair, playing with it and smoothing it, hopefully, it would bring a bit of comfort.</p><p>“The man in the cell, I can tell you a bit more” Joan continued “he’s tall, about six foot, and had an oversized jacket. His stance told me he is military or ex-military, and he has a strong Spanish accent. He may be a member of a gang, although the way they did this makes me think he’s working on his own, maybe as a personal vendetta against… him”</p><p>She avoided saying his name, she knew Sherlock was listening. She kept rubbing his back and shushing now and then; although Sherlock wasn’t emitting a single sound, she could tell he wasn’t sleeping yet. </p><p>“Any idea what he might have against him?” Gregson asked. Joan shook her head.</p><p>“It probably has something to do with an old case, but who knows. He’s closed so many I wouldn’t even know where to begin” she admitted, at a loss.</p><p>“We’ve already checked people coming into hospitals with a stab wound on the leg, we’ll cross-reference that with all cases closed by Sherlock with anyone with a Hispanic background,” Gregson said “we’ll find him”</p><p>“Also, check that with the woman he was with the first time around. The man didn’t give me any information, but it was obvious she was used to torturing him” she added.</p><p>Gregson nodded, taking notes in his notepad, and she thanked him with her gaze. </p><p>Sherlock was finally relaxed now, his body was heavier against Joan and she thought he was finally giving in.</p><p>“Let me put him to bed” she whispered Gregson, before she spoke to Sherlock with a soft voice “come to bed, honey” she nudged the boy. Sherlock opened his eyes sleepily, and a hand went to rub them tiredly. Joan pushed him off her lap and Sherlock obeyed, too sleepy to care. </p><p>She took his hand and they both walked towards the bedroom. Joan made Sherlock lay on the bed, then drawing the curtains so he’d have less light coming into the room. After, she strode towards the bed and tucked the boy in, making sure he had his pacifier in his mouth. The fleeting thought of the blankie came to her mind, and she wished she had thought to buy it sooner since now it would be a great time to use it. Hopefully, it would be here by tomorrow. </p><p>She would’ve walked out of the door, but Sherlock wasn’t completely asleep, and in his stupor, he whined and stretched his hand, needy. Joan smiled softly before she climbed onto the bed and sat down next to Sherlock, resting her back against the bedpost. Her hand went towards his head, her fingers already recognizing the rough patterns of his shaven hair and enjoying the touch of it. He was laying on his side, his face close to her but not on her lap.</p><p>“Relax, sweetheart” she cooed “just close your eyes…”</p><p>It didn’t take long for Sherlock’s breathing to change, and soon, he was dozing off. She stood up silently and with caution, making sure he wasn’t stirring, before she walked out of the bedroom and closed the door, leaving it only slightly ajar so some light could come into the room and he wouldn’t be afraid of the darkness if he woke up suddenly. </p><p>“How is he doing?” Gregson asked once Joan was back in the kitchen. She shrugged.</p><p>“I don’t know what to tell you” she answered honestly “today he was better. Yesterday it was hard, he was a baby who only cried and cried whenever I left the room. At least today he’s talking and he was playing before you came”</p><p>Gregson nodded, sighing. </p><p>“He has a lot of trauma to deal with, and me being taken only confirmed that he’s destined to be alone and abandoned by everyone”</p><p>“Why would he think that?”</p><p>“I can’t tell you that if Sherlock hasn’t told you himself,” Joan said. It was true that the Captain had seen Sherlock in that state, but that didn’t mean she was at liberty to discuss everything concerning her friend without his permission “suffice to say he suffered both as a boy and as an adult. By being little, we’re working towards healing those wounds” </p><p>Gregson nodded; it was obvious he didn’t completely understand. But if the Captain was a good friend and better Captain was because he didn’t judge things he didn’t necessarily comprehend. Joan smiled softly, she was grateful for having people such as him in Sherlock’s life. Gregson took the last sip of his tea and got up from his seat.</p><p>“Well, it’s time to go,” he said, straightening his tie and putting on his jacket “I’ll let Marcus know everything you’ve told me, and we’ll keep digging into Sherlock’s records, see if anything jumps up”</p><p>“Thank you, Captain” she answered “if you need help, don’t hesitate to contact me”</p><p>Together they walked up the stairs towards the front door, and Joan opened it up to let the Captain out. Before he went, he turned around to face her.</p><p>“I see you’re taking good care of him. Just tell us if you need anything, okay? And please, take care of yourself” Gregson said. His voice had an insistent tone on it, and he placed a soft, big hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly “don’t forget that it was you who got kidnapped not two days ago…”</p><p>“I know, I’m not forgetting” she answered. She realized she sounded a bit rash and forced herself to take a deep breath “I just… I’m not in denial or ignoring it. I just want to look after Sherlock, focusing on him helps me”</p><p>“But don’t forget to focus on you too” he insisted “we know what he’s like, he’s self-absorbed and…”</p><p>“He really isn’t. Not like he was years ago” Joan interrupted. She didn’t want to sound defensive, but she wasn’t going to let the Captain tell her Sherlock was taking advantage of her when all he needed was her presence “he needs me, Captain. You didn’t see him yesterday; it was hard to see him like that. And I wasn’t traumatized by being kidnapped, I just –” she stopped to take a breath and think, looking for the right words. Her voice went a tad lower “his guilt is eating him alive, and he thinks he doesn’t deserve to have anyone by his side. He thinks we’re all going to abandon him in the end. I just… I want to help him”</p><p>Gregson exhaled profoundly, nodding his head. He may not like what he was hearing, but he seemed to accept it. </p><p>“Okay. I’ll keep you posted on our investigation. Take lots of care, Joan” he said in a warm voice, and with that, he was gone. </p><p>Joan took a deep breath after Gregson left. She understood where his concern was coming from, she really did; Sherlock had been self-absorbed and uncourteous before. But this wasn’t being selfish, this was genuinely needing someone else, craving the right kind of attention. How could nobody see how much he was suffering and how insecure Sherlock was in his relationships with other people? </p><p>Sherlock hadn’t had family affection since their parents divorced and Morland Holmes took the custody of both Holmes boys. His loving mother, May Holmes, died alone away from her children, and Sherlock had been on his own since he was a little kid. He was alone, brutalized and bullied in school, with a brother that seemed to hurt him every step of the way and a father who wasn’t caring but sharp and strict, and who filled his role as a father not out of love, but out of familial duty.</p><p>So, Sherlock had got used to getting attention only for his intellect and bad behaviour, knowing neither his dad nor his brother knew how to treat him or raise him, and he got used to taking and not giving; since people always did that with him. They took and took, and never gave him what he needed.</p><p>Not with Joan, though. </p><p>She knew how much Sherlock had been hurt, and she was aware that the only other person who had loved him with no restraints had been his mother, who passed away much too soon and away from her children. Her death and Morland’s negligence had left a profound wound on Sherlock’s psyche, a mark she was already working to heal.</p><p>She took care of him when nobody else had, she knew when he needed space to be alone and when he needed company. She showed him what it meant to take care of another person, to have them care about you in a more profound way, to look after you when you couldn’t do it yourself. </p><p>The Captain was wrong, and Morland was wrong as well. The affection and attention Sherlock longed for and craved didn’t stem from being selfish or self-righteous, it stemmed from a profound lack of love and emotional care since he was an infant. And Joan was going to fix that. </p><p>She shook her head to dispel those negative thoughts and decided to go to her bedroom and take a long, warm shower and change clothes while Sherlock slept. After that, she went back to the kitchen and started to prepare lunch. </p><p> </p><p>A bit later Sherlock emerged from the guest bedroom next to the kitchen, his hair all tousled but he seemed rested.</p><p>“Oh, hey” Joan greeted him from the table, looking up at him through her glasses. She had a book with her, she’d already had lunch but had left Sherlock to sleep and wake up by himself.</p><p>“I’ll be right back,” Sherlock said in a whisper before he went upstairs, presumably towards the bathroom.</p><p>Joan immediately recognized he wasn’t in little space anymore. She gave him time, he probably wanted to take his nappy off, evacuate (they were avoiding doing that in the nappies if they could) and have a quick shower before he’d come down already dressed and being his usual, energetic self. </p><p>When he finally did, dressed in a simple pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, he went straight to the chair nearest to Joan and sat down, serving himself a good serving of salad.</p><p>“Hungry, I take it?” she asked, hiding a smile behind her cup of tea.</p><p>“Ravenous” he answered with a smile, and he tucked into the food.</p><p>She smiled, it seemed that almost two full days of regression had worked wonders for him. His appetite was increasing even when being an adult, and that was saying something. </p><p>“Don’t eat too fast or you’ll get sick” she admonished.</p><p>Sherlock stopped for a moment with the fork halfway through its way to his mouth, and Joan stopped dead in her tracks too. Sherlock wasn’t little, so there was no need to talk to him like he was, it just had slipped.</p><p>“S-sorry” she managed to say when her mind had caught up with what she’d said. </p><p>“No, it’s alright” Sherlock answered. He stayed there, unmoving, for a few more seconds. Joan knew she’d crossed a line, Sherlock didn’t need anyone mothering him when he was an adult, she didn’t know why she’d said that…</p><p>But then, Sherlock dragged his chair closer to hers, until their legs were brushing. Joan was surprised but when she looked at him, he was averting his gaze and had a delicate blush on his cheeks. She smiled and let out a relieved breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding and returned to her book while Sherlock ate, the companionable silence had returned and their legs didn’t stop brushing. A gentle reminder that they were together. </p><p>“How are you holding up, Watson?” Sherlock asked a while after. He’d put the bowl in the sink, the remains of the salad in the fridge, and had served himself some tea and had poured Joan her second one. </p><p>“What? I’m okay, why?” she asked, her eyes moving from the page to him.</p><p>“Well… I know you said it wasn’t my fault and I believe you… but the fact remains, you were abducted for two days. And then, right when you were supposed to go home and rest, you chose to take care of me instead. I just…” Sherlock let out a deep sigh “I’m worried about you”</p><p>“I’m alright. Really” she answered honestly, shrugging her shoulders.</p><p>And it was true. Taking care of Sherlock had made her focus on other things, and she was so exhausted that she slept through the night, only being woken up if Sherlock woke her up. She had tried to not think too much about her time in that cell, and having little Sherlock had helped in doing that and putting some distance between the fact and her. </p><p>“I… I’m sorry I couldn’t help much with the Captain,” he said regrettably “I was… distraught”</p><p>“I know. You don’t have to worry about that, they’re working on it” she whispered, and then she tilted her head with an affectionate expression “you and I can focus only on us”</p><p>“My thoughts exactly” Sherlock answered, and then he got up from the chair. </p><p>Joan looked at him with a question in her eyes, which intensified once he offered his hand for her to take it. She looked at the hand and then at his eyes, still not knowing what he intended, but she took his hand, nevertheless.</p><p>And then she was suddenly pulled towards a strong chest, a pair of strong arms surrounding her torso and towards her back. She felt Sherlock inhaling her hair, sighing when he caught the scent of her shampoo and holding her a bit more tightly against him. </p><p>Joan stood there, too shocked to move or even react to Sherlock’s hug. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, little Sherlock was well versed already in the art of hugging Joan, and their relationship when he wasn’t in little space was slowly moving towards a more physical one. So, adult Sherlock hugging her wasn’t something to be ruled out completely. But Joan was shocked mostly because this was so different from the hugs they’d shared: he wasn’t looking for comfort or solace, he was actually <em>giving </em>it. </p><p>“I’m sorry Watson” he whispered against her hair, his voice deep and raspy “you were kidnapped, and you chose to take care of me instead. I’m incredibly grateful you did and I can never thank you enough, but you don’t have to do it all the time. Remember that I’m here for you too, for whatever you need”</p><p>Joan said nothing; she felt her throat constrict. If taking care of little Sherlock had worked wonders to not think about the kidnapping, a hug from adult Sherlock was slowly undoing her resolve. She felt his fear and his remorse, she felt his need and urgency, and his hope and love. The hug was encompassing all of that, and she felt herself hiding his face against his strong chest, listening to the beating of his heart; strong and steady. Hot tears descended through her cheeks, but they weren’t of fear, they were of relief. She had gone through a scary situation, a situation that she hadn’t deemed that dangerous but it could’ve been; but she was safe now, she was home. With him.</p><p>She distantly registered Sherlock’s soft hums against her ear and she smiled, he was doing the same she had done countless times before to calm him. Soon he was slightly swaying her from side to side, keeping her in his arms. It was the longest hug they’d shared when Sherlock wasn’t in little space, and she could say it was probably the best, most affectionate and comforting hug she’d ever received.</p><p>When Joan was finally calmer, they undid the hug, but still, their bodies didn’t move away from each other, too used to being close to the other to part now. </p><p>“Thank you,” she said with a rough voice and a soft, grateful smile, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand “I didn’t even know I needed that”</p><p>“My pleasure, Joanie” he answered, using the nickname he used only when he was little. </p><p>He looked at her, and his lips had the most beautiful and widest smile she’d ever seen on him, his eyes glistening with affection. </p><p>“Popcorn and film?” he suggested, still with her hand in his.</p><p>She smiled and nodded. Together they started to gather drinks and putting the popcorn in the microwave, then they went towards the media room. They were spending a lot of time here lately, Joan thought while she started to gather all the toys scattered around the floor and put them into the chest. Sherlock, meanwhile, was putting the two chairs comfortably close to each other in front of the TVs and was switching off the biggest one they had, directly straight ahead. </p><p>Both of them were aware that when Joan had too many choices of films on her hands, she always went for the same one: <em>The Godfather</em>. So, they settled on their chairs with the movie on, sharing a bowl of popcorn and some drinks they’d procured from the kitchen. Sherlock had seen the movie so many times in the years he’d shared with Joan he almost knew some parts by heart, but he didn’t complain. </p><p>And he complained less when their bodies moved of their own accord and slowly began to lean into each other, until Joan was resting her head against his shoulder, their arms pressed against each other and their hands slowly caressing their greasy fingers. Joan sighed, completely relaxed and at ease, and wondered for a second what her life might’ve been if she hadn’t taken Sherlock when she was a sober companion. It sure wouldn’t be as exciting and happy as her life was now.</p><p>She sighed contently and closed her eyes briefly as the end credits were rolling on the screen.</p><p>“How are you feeling, Sherlock?” she asked when the screen turned black and the music stopped. </p><p>The detective turned to look at her, at first surprised by her question, and then he turned pensive.</p><p>“I’m fine” he said, “I… I can’t dismiss the idea of regressing soon, I know I have a lot of emotional baggage with me, and it can’t be easy for you to deal with it…”</p><p>“Oh it isn’t, but I wouldn’t change my little detective for anything in the world” Joan answered with a soft, affectionate voice while Sherlock smiled shyly and looked away “my question was more about these past two days. Are you feeling a bit better?”</p><p>“I’m surprised to say that I am” he admitted “it feels strange to let go of your inhibitions, but once I can do that, emotions just… take over. And it seems I’m a bit of a whiny child when I’m little…”</p><p>“Don’t say that, you have a lot to work through and crying it out helps” Joan answered. She wasn’t going to let him think he was somehow misbehaving by crying “I’m asking because… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about… your fear” Joan said, dubitative. She didn’t know if it was a good idea to bring up the topic when Sherlock was adult, but she felt she had to “I… Sherlock I’m so sorry about all you suffered as a kid. I’m –”</p><p>“You don’t have to be sorry, Watson” he interrupted, matter-of-factly “it just happened”</p><p>“I know but… I was surprised and… heartbroken” Sherlock’s eyes shot up at her confession, Joan was looking at him with so much emotion in her eyes that he had to look away “the way you sobbed when I simply went out of the room as if you thought I’d abandoned you, the way you wanted me to hold you like you wanted to disappear with me…” Joan had to take a deep breath. He was sitting on the chair with his legs crossed and Joan knew he was a bit tense, so she took the hand she was already holding in both her hands and started to caress the back of the hand with her thumbs. Her voice went lower and deeper when she spoke “you don’t have to tell me why you’re scared I’ll leave you, I know enough about your parents to know where it comes from”</p><p>Sherlock was looking forward. His face was scrunched up, his eyelashes blinking continuously to dispel threatening tears from falling down his cheeks, his eyes darting to different points in the room, anywhere but Joan. He sniffled quietly before speaking.</p><p>“May Holmes… she was the only one that loved me for who I am, from the minute of my birth. The only one who knew what I was and what I needed… but she left, and I had to learn to live without her” Sherlock’s voice sounded detached, Joan knew why. If he didn’t distance himself from the emotions when talking about May, he knew he would lose it. He probably hadn’t even processed his grief properly. </p><p>“Sherlock I’m so sorry she wasn’t there, that you had to be alone when you were little. I’m so sorry you had to grow up thinking nobody cared about you and thinking everybody would leave in the end” she heard him sniffle quietly again, and her hands resumed her caresses on Sherlock’s palms “I promise you, it won’t happen with me. I won’t ever leave your side”</p><p>She allowed silence to fill the room for a few seconds, giving him time to listen to her words, to process them in his mind.</p><p>“I know, Watson” he softly smiled and looked at her, his eyes warm. He turned his hand, instantly entwining his fingers with Joan’s in an affectionate gesture “if there’s one person in this world besides my mother that can put me in check and scold me, while at the same time hold me and wash away my tears and my pain, it’s you”</p><p>Joan smiled and nodded, he understood, he knew. Now it was only a matter of making him believe. For now, though, there was no need to say more. Their gestures and eyes spoke for themselves.</p><p>Neither of them knew how long they stayed in the same position, holding each other’s hands and caressing them with their fingers. It seemed like neither wanted to go to bed, but Joan was pretty tired, and so after a while she sighed and let go of Sherlock’s hand, instantly missing the contact. </p><p>“Will you stay up tonight?” she asked while she got up from the chair and stretched her arms and back. She always wondered why they never got a sofa for the media room, and she thought that if movie night was going to be a recurrent thing, they should invest in one.</p><p>Sherlock was silent for a moment, and Joan looked at him with concern.</p><p>“Sherlock?”</p><p>“I was wondering if… but you don’t have to if you don’t want to” he said, his voice sounded unsure “I was wondering if… you’d…”</p><p>“Do you want to sleep with me?” Joan asked for him, already sensing what he wanted. He looked at her eyes, they were a bit anxious but also full of hope and longing.</p><p>“Would you allow me? Even if I’m… not little?” his tremulous voice gave him away.</p><p>Joan fell silent, thinking. Would she do that? A few months before taking up this new <em>endeavour </em>as Sherlock had put it once, she would’ve never thought she would sleep with Sherlock, and honestly, at first she had been afraid of what this new thing might do to their relationship if it changed.</p><p>“Of course you don’t have to, I just thought… it could be…” Sherlock realized he’d talked too much and was trying to turn back on his words.</p><p>“No, it’s okay…”</p><p>“I’m sorry Watson, I – of course, this is already changing so much for us, I’m not sure you…” he was rambling now, she sensed him already retreating, his eyes darting away to a fixed point on the wall.</p><p>“Don’t be sorry, Sherlock. It’s okay that things are changing” she smiled, tilting her head to be able to look at his eyes. Sherlock fell silent but he was still tense, she knew he thought he’d blown it. Her smile turned more affectionate “to be honest, our relationship has never been merely partnership or even friendship. We’ve always called it that, for lack of a better word, but I know that for us it’s always been much deeper. So what, if this is changing us?”</p><p>Joan knew their relationship was already changing, it was evolving, and it couldn’t be defined by the parameters of friendship anymore, and it never could. The way Joan saw it, the words <em>friend </em>or even <em>partner</em> lacked depth to describe what they were to each other and the deep feelings they harboured, for they were the entire universe to each other. No word could encompass something like that, certainly not a relationship as strong as deep as theirs. Sherlock being little had only added a much-needed step forward in their relationship, and as far as Joan was concerned, she didn’t mind if sleeping together became the norm in the long run. </p><p>“What do you want, Sherlock?”</p><p>“I just… I want to sleep with you, to feel you next to me being completely aware of what’s happening. I’ve never been exactly cognizant before, usually, I was… distraught” his voice faltered at the word, but he pushed on to get the words out of his chest “but tonight I want to. I want to feel you next to me, knowing you’re safe in my arms, as much as I’m safe in yours”</p><p>He wanted to make sure she was safe. Joan’s heart swelled at his words, he not only wanted to feel secure in her presence, but he also wanted to make sure nobody had harmed her, that she was intact and safe with him. She smiled reassuringly and nodded.</p><p>“I am safe. We both are, as long as we’re together” she answered. Then she smiled and held out her hand “coming?”</p><p>Sherlock looked at the hand, still with disbelief in his eyes, which seemed to dispel and make way to surprise and gratefulness when he took her hand in his. She could distinctively hear him letting out a deep breath she was sure he’d been holding in, then she muttered in a secretive voice:</p><p>“No matter if you’re regressed or not, you’re still my little big detective”</p><p>Sherlock had the deference to blush slightly at her words, avoiding her gaze.</p><p>“And I can’t deny I like the fact that you now can sleep through the night without waking me at odd hours” she added smiling, to which Sherlock let out a chuckle.</p><p>Hand in hand they got out of the media room and went towards Joan’s bedroom. She told him to get ready for bed while she went to the bathroom, and when she went back to her room, Sherlock was already in bed waiting for her.</p><p>“You know, I could get used to this…” she said casually with a wide smile on her face “I had never realized how rested you can be when sleeping with someone. Did you think of this before?”</p><p>“It was a step in our cohabitation I had previously considered, yes. Just a thought, though” he answered, embarrassed “it didn’t seem right for me to… actually do it”</p><p>“Well, it seems right to me now” she said, getting into bed and laying her body next to him. He watched him stretch, she reminded him a bit of a cat, and even more, when he curled up against her and a sigh came out of his throat. Her hand found his hair in no time, and he pressed himself closer against her, she knew he would be purring now if he was actually a cat.</p><p>“Good night, Joanie” he whispered with his eyes closed. </p><p>“Good night, Sherlock” she answered before she switched off the lights and closed her eyes.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey there, dear readers!<br/>I hope you're all well, and enjoying the last days of July!<br/>Here I come with another chapter of this story. This goes out to Gaby @MusicalProstituteMyDear, who suggested if Sherlock could refuse to regress for a few days, and then Joan could convince him to let go and be little. It turns out, the small idea she gave me turned into a huge monster of an idea with a really long tail! So, the idea you asked for is going to be divided between this chapter and the next! It is coming, though :)</p><p>If you have any prompts or ideas you'd like to read, don't hesitate to send them my way.<br/>ENJOY!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The following morning both Joan and Sherlock were well-rested. Sherlock had slept the entire night, something Joan was incredibly happy and grateful for.</p><p>She had slept well too, but contrary to Sherlock, she had woken up a couple of times; she guessed that half her brain was still attuned to Sherlock’s wellbeing and making sure he was okay. However, every time her eyes opened and looked at him concerned, she sighed with relief. Sherlock was sound asleep each time, his breathing deep and slow, his chest weaving up and down with rhythmic movements. The second time she’d woken up she even smiled. </p><p>He was laying on his back, one of his arms under his head while the other was touching Joan’s arm as if even in his sleep he wanted to make sure she was close to him. One of his legs was on top of the duvet, as was half his body, it seemed he had been hot and had moved half his body out of the duvet to keep cool. But what made Joan smile wasn’t his obvious comfortable state and abandoned sleep, it was his face. He was slightly snoring, his lips drawing a slight smile, and he seemed completely relaxed. His face was slightly turned to her, and she couldn’t help but move one of her hands to gently pet his hair at the top of his head, brushing it away from his forehead. She smiled, not really understanding how her heart could swell with so much love and affection for someone, and she closed her eyes again, curling up a bit closer to him. </p><p>The next time Joan woke up, Sherlock’s eyes were already open but, surprisingly, he was still in bed next to her.</p><p>“Morning” he whispered when he noticed her stirring, she brushed her eyes with the back of her hand, still half-asleep.</p><p>“Good morning” she slurred, voice raspy “I didn’t think you’d be here so late” </p><p>“It isn’t late” he commented. Then he stretched and sighed, moving closer to her and placing his head on her pillow, their faces only inches apart “we have a few more minutes to spare in bed”</p><p>“I never thought you’d say that” she teased him with a smile, he simply stuck his tongue out and smiled.</p><p>The atmosphere was calm, relaxed. Joan closed her eyes and sighed contently. She had never been a morning person, but she couldn’t deny that lately, excluding the two mornings she’d been abducted, waking up next to Sherlock was something she was enjoying immensely. </p><p>“So… what do you want to do today?” Joan asked, opening one of her eyes. Sherlock looked at her with a pensive expression.</p><p>“I know the Captain gave us all the time we needed, but I’m feeling rested and ready. If you need, Watson, you can stay and…”</p><p>“Nonsense. If you go, I go, remember?” she answered, sitting up on the bed. Sherlock followed, their legs brushing with their movements “I just want to ask. Are you sure you’re ready?”</p><p>“I am” Sherlock answered, his voice sounded convinced and resolute.</p><p>Joan nodded, also resolute in her decision. She was feeling okay, well-rested and ready to tackle the case with fresh eyes and a keen mind.</p><p>So, after preparing breakfast for two, each of them got dressed and presentable and Joan called Gregson up, he answered they were in the precinct. Together, not holding hands but naturally gravitating towards each other, they caught a taxi and went to the station. </p><p>“Hey, are you guys okay?” Marcus greeted them when they both came out of the elevator.</p><p>“Yeah, we’re fine” Joan answered, Sherlock just nodded his head “ready to get to work”</p><p>“We weren’t expecting you so soon, to be honest,” the detective answered, looking at the already fading bruise on Joan’s cheek and the cut on her forehead “according to the Captain, you needed some time...”</p><p>“Well… you know us, Marcus. Work is the best antidepressant” Sherlock answered. </p><p>His voice had sounded quite serious but Marcus recognized the joke and chuckled. Joan had to sigh in relief, she was aware the Captain would tell Marcus something about what he’d seen at the brownstone, and it filled her with relief to know that Marcus was as accepting of Sherlock’s little side as the Captain was. He needed his support system, now more than ever, and it was heart-warming to know how much the two policemen really appreciated the consulting detective. </p><p>“Yeah well, antidepressant or not, I’m glad you’re back” Marcus admitted. Joan smiled at him.</p><p>“We’re never too far away” she answered, placing a hand on Marcus's shoulder. Then, her face hardened just a bit “can you walk us through everything you’ve got on the case so far?” Joan asked; Marcus nodded and took them to one of the workrooms.</p><p>There were stacks of files and papers covering almost all surfaces of the table and other furniture. Joan could see her sketch of the man’s ring atop of the papers and photographs, and she looked at Marcus expectantly.</p><p>“Right, so the ring and the leg stab wound both served to ID the guy. We know he’s called Hernan Lopez, born in the US but from a Mexican family, that’s why his accent gave him away”</p><p>“Any priors?”</p><p>“Nothing serious, he was in the system for a couple of charges for vandalism years ago, but he’s always kept his hands clean” Marcus answered. Sherlock walked towards the table, taking one or two files and perusing them, his eyes quickly scanning the information “he’s in the wind, though. We’ve tried contacting next of kin, there’s a BOLO out for him…”</p><p>“You won’t find him”</p><p>Sherlock’s voice sounded deep and aggravated. Joan looked at him and realized his stance was rigid, in his fingers he was holding a photograph of Hernan, his eyes fixated on his face.</p><p>After so many years of nightmares, of wondering, of being gaslighted and second-guessing everything he thought he knew… Joan observed him and imagined it must’ve been unsettling, to say the least, to finally put a face to the voice and the man behind his torture.</p><p>“Why not?” Marcus asked.</p><p>“I’m assuming Watson and I weren’t his only victims. This man is professional at kidnapping people, amongst other criminal activities I presume he’s taken up over the years” Sherlock explained “no, he won’t leave any trace that could lead back to him. We will have to try and find another way…”</p><p>“If you’re thinking about putting yourself up as bait, forget it” Joan said sharply.</p><p>“No, I wasn’t thinking about that. But we know a certain someone who could lure him out” Sherlock’s voice had a tone of mischief and mystery to it. Joan caught it instantly.</p><p>“Your father” she whispered.</p><p>Marcus looked from Sherlock to Joan, she could almost see the clogs at work inside his mind. </p><p>“My father’s business has a certain reach beyond the capacity of the NYPD” Sherlock explained to the detective, deliberately omitting the fact that he was also the head of a criminal organization previously run by Moriarty. Marcus didn’t need to know that “he may be able to do something about this”</p><p>“Sherlock…” Joan started. Sherlock had a gaze that seemed to indicate he meant business, and he was taking the idea very seriously, but Joan was apprehensive. Morland had never been a good influence on Sherlock, and he was already grasping at straws as it was.</p><p>“There’s no other way, Watson” he shot her a glance that told her he wasn’t convinced either, but knew he had to ask for his father’s help nonetheless “I will pay for my father’s favours”</p><p>“What? What do you mean, pay for his favours?” Marcus, who had been silently listening to his friends’ conversation, asked.</p><p>“My father has helped us on various occasions, but he always asks for something in return. His help comes with a price, always has”</p><p>“That’s fucked up” Marcus muttered. Joan snorted.</p><p>“You could say that” Sherlock answered as he slightly shrugged, resigned, but Joan could already see the lines that had previously disappeared, returning once again to his forehead.</p><p>She sighed, noticing how she had to restrain herself to speak up and forbid Sherlock from calling his father. For a second she was shocked at herself for her reaction, how could she even think of forbidding something to Sherlock? He was an adult to do as he pleased, regardless of the moments he felt little and she was his caregiver.</p><p>Both of them were protective of each other, Sherlock had nearly gone mad every time Joan had been put in danger, and Joan was always on the lookout for him. However, both of them also recognized that, while she knew Sherlock was capable of defending himself in almost any violent or physical situation, what worried Joan was his emotional well-being. He was constantly hyper-verbal about his impassiveness and how he considered himself above matters of the heart, as he had once put it; but he allowed her to see beyond this mere façade. And what she saw scared her and instilled in her such feelings of caring, nurturing and protection she had never felt before. </p><p>From the moment she met Morland she’d warned him she wouldn’t allow him to hurt his son. That had been years ago, before he took over Moriarty’s organization, and much earlier than their recent investigation, but Joan had fulfilled her promise so far. And she intended to continue, Joan wasn’t about to let Morland waltz into Sherlock’s life and destroy what they had slowly been building. </p><p>She was worried, she couldn’t deny it. As a friend, she always worried whenever Sherlock was in his father’s company, as she knew how much he despised the man who helped bring him to life but did little else in the forty years that followed. Now, as a caregiver, she worried about what seeing Morland might do to Sherlock’s mental and emotional state.</p><p>“Watson, a word?” Sherlock’s voice took her out of her reverie, and she jumped, slightly taken aback. She nodded and was about to walk out of the room when Marcus took his cue and whispered “I’m going to get some coffee”, disappearing and leaving the room for them to talk, closing the door behind him.</p><p>“You seem vexed. What’s troubling you?” Sherlock didn’t beat around the bush, he never did when they were discussing a serious issue. </p><p>He had become very good at giving her privacy and respecting her space; and when Joan told him no, he was capable of respecting her answer. Finding balance had been a long and painstaking process on both parts. However, he had learnt enough to know when to press Joan for an answer, and that was one of those moments. </p><p>“Are you sure about this, Sherlock? I mean, your father…”</p><p>“Yes, I am sure. We’re going to need some help if we want to close this case, and I need to close this chapter” his voice was resolute and Joan had to gulp, she didn’t have the stomach to tell him to get as far away as possible from this case and his father.</p><p>Joan stayed silent. She could feel Sherlock’s eyes on her, analysing her, deducing what she wasn’t saying with words.</p><p>“Watson, this isn’t the first time I’ve requested my father’s help” Sherlock whispered, his voice growing a bit softer “why are you so troubled? If it’s about the price, I can assure you, I will tell him only I will be the sole responsible for –”</p><p>“It’s not that” Joan interrupted him, shaking her head. She was a few feet away from Sherlock, quite close to the door, while Sherlock had walked a bit further inside the room. He left the file on the table and took a couple of steps towards her until he was close.</p><p>“Then what?”</p><p>“It’s just… I don’t trust him and I don’t want him near you, okay?” she admitted, defeated and a tad frustrated. She passed her hands through her long, straight hair, dishevelling it slightly “he’s the man that started all of this. He should’ve been there for you, he should’ve loved you! And instead, he pushed you away when you were just a kid and never took care of you beyond the monetary issue. He’s the man that hurt you!”</p><p>Joan fell silent and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to control her anger at the man and her frustration with the situation. It wasn’t a good idea, her gut was telling her as much, but she could do nothing about it. </p><p>“If you’ve decided to ask for his help I can’t stop you. But don’t ask me to like the idea when I know your heart will be a bit more broken in his wake”</p><p>Joan’s last words were a mere whisper, she was looking down at the floor. Sherlock was taken aback. His eyes were wide open, his eyebrows raised and his mouth open until he seemed to recover and shook his head, pressing his lips onto a fine line. </p><p>“He won’t hurt me. He doesn’t have that power any more” Sherlock whispered. Then he took another step, his shoes almost brushing against Joan’s stilettos. He looked over his shoulder and through the windows, to make sure nobody was watching them, and in a swift movement, he took one of her hands in his. It was a gentle and small gesture, nothing like the hugs and soft caresses they shared in the privacy of the brownstone, but to her, the action spoke volumes.</p><p>“How can you be so sure? He’s hurt you before”</p><p>“Because now you’re with me”</p><p>His answer was so simple, and yet so honest and full of meaning behind those simple words, that Joan felt her heart melt. Her eyes looked at his, full of affection and reassurance, and she gave him a small smile. She wasn’t convinced, not by a long shot, but she had to let him do it. It was his decision. And if something happened… well, she’ll be there to pick up the pieces. She just hoped it didn’t come to that. </p><p>Sherlock let go of her hand just as the Captain was coming into the room to check on them and make sure they were okay. Together with Marcus, they made a plan: Sherlock and Joan would talk to Morland, while Marcus and the Captain called a few colleagues of other departments to see if they were lucky and could find any information on Hernan, or others working with him. </p><p>“Isn’t it strange that we know nothing of how his organization operates?” Joan asked in the back seat of the taxi.</p><p>Sherlock was sitting next to her, a couple of boxes balancing on his lap while she had another box of her own, thank god the brownstone was not too far away from the precinct. Sherlock made a non-committal sound with his throat. </p><p>“There are a few things that don’t fit, we’re missing something. I think once we’ve talked to my father we’ll have to look at the data with fresh eyes” Sherlock commented. Joan knew that those words were code for some strange change of scenario: using another room instead of the library and the study to think about the case, and most surely, work all afternoon and well into the wee hours of the morning. She sighed internally, knowing she would need vast amounts of coffee that night. She’d slept well, sure, but she <em>always </em>needed more sleep.</p><p>When they got to the brownstone, Sherlock took out his phone and went into the study, presumably to have a conversation with one of Morland’s minions. Hopefully, he would be able to talk to the man himself. While he did that, Joan went to the kitchen to prepare some sandwiches for lunch. </p><p>While she was mindlessly spreading peanut butter on toast her mind took her to the wonderful couple of days she’d spent with Sherlock while regressed. Looking after a little, emotionally wounded Sherlock had been incredibly hard, there was no denying it, and more often than not she didn’t think she was ready to take such a massive responsibility. </p><p>But then, when she started to think of all the things she couldn’t provide him with, Sherlock would curl up against her and fall asleep. Or he would be scared and crying and would call out for her, desperate for affection and contact. Or her personal favourite, when he reached with his arms, his hands opening and closing in a silent plea to hold him. And when Joan obliged and cuddled him, whispering sweet nonsense to his hear, he would miraculously calm down and turn into a happy, carefree child. </p><p>So, Joan may not be the best caregiver in the world, but to Sherlock, she was the best there was, for she was exactly what he needed. And it was surprising even for her to find out the extent to which she was willing to go to give him the second childhood he deserved. </p><p>And that was why her mind went back again to the man Sherlock was trying to contact, the man that had planted the seed for him to believe himself undeserving of love and care. She could feel her anger building up inside her, and realized that if Morland hurt Sherlock in any way, she wasn’t sure she would be able to control herself. She guessed that was the price to pay for loving Sherlock the way that she did. </p><p>To be honest, she just wanted this case to end so they could do that again. </p><p>Joan took the sandwiches upstairs in two plates, along with a couple of glasses of water, and she located Sherlock in the study. The boxes they had been carrying on the taxi were copies of all the files on Hernan, given to them by the Captain, and he was in the process of putting them up on the wall.</p><p>They ate while focusing on the case, throwing theories back and forth and looking at the wall of crazy, as she called it. Joan sat down on the floor in front of the wall and started to eat, while Sherlock paced the room around her, stopping to take small bites in between placing the sheets of paper on the wall. </p><p> </p><p>“There has to be a connection between the building and the gang” Joan insisted a while after. </p><p>It had been hours since they had eaten and they were still in the study, Joan had taken a stack of files and was revising them, to see if she could see some connection.</p><p>“There isn’t, CSU found nothing. There should be a paper trail somewhere, something that connects everything, but... there’s something we’re missing” Sherlock answered. His hand went towards the back of his head and rubbed it anxiously while pacing back and forth, he always did that when he was anxious. </p><p>“Hey” Joan called with a soft voice when she saw what he was doing “don’t worry, we’ll find him”</p><p>Sherlock nodded, she could see his sceptical expression, it seemed that their task was getting particularly daunting, but there had to be some way to know more about the gang Hernan was the head of. He ran his hand through his hair at the top of his head, leaving it fluffier than before, and took a deep breath.</p><p>“I just... want him found. And then have a day or two to rest, you and I... maybe we could... play some more...” his voice trailed down until it was no more than a whisper, but the tone was hopeful. Joan looked at him and smiled, nodding enthusiastically. </p><p>“Of course we will, darling” Joan promised with reassurance. It was heart-warming to see Sherlock feeling comfortable enough now in his regression to suggest regressing when they were done. She would’ve suggested even doing it while on the case, after all, that had been Sherlock’s initial idea, but she knew his mind was now focused on the case so much he would consider being little now as a waste of time and energy. So, she let it go, only thinking about the moment she would be able to drown him in hugs and kisses.</p><p>“I still have the dummy” he whispered, placing his hand atop of his pocket breast. He was avoiding Joan’s gaze and his cheeks had tinged with beautiful light pink. She assumed he’d been wearing it on his persona for the entire day, ever since they’d gone to the precinct, and her smile went a bit wider. He may not be little, but he was wearing the pacifier as something that brought him comfort when he wasn’t in little space, and that was a nice thought.</p><p>“Does it help?” she asked. Sherlock nodded several times and gave her a small smile “then that’s all that matters. When we’re done, we’re going to have a nice bath and some cuddles in bed”</p><p>He smiled, his eyes glistening with desire and longing. She knew he was anxious to do what she had just told him, and he returned the grin with a soft expression on her face.</p><p>Not long afterwards, the doorbell rang, its raucous sound reverberating through the walls of the brownstone and breaking the nice, calm atmosphere of the house. </p><p>“Are you expecting someone?” Joan asked with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>Sherlock shook his head. Both thought of Morland, of course, but it had been to quick a trip to be him, right?</p><p>Turns out, it wasn’t. Joan walked upstairs a few paces behind Sherlock, and when he looked through the peephole, he sighed.</p><p>“He’s here” he whispered to her, breathing deeply before opening the door.</p><p>Joan stood only a couple of paces behind Sherlock, from her position she could see Morland in front of the door. Always the stoic man, his face was the pure expression of seriousness, and he walked in without needing to be invited. His escorts waited outside the door, as they normally did when Morland had business with his son.</p><p>“Good afternoon, father, that was an unusually quick response” Sherlock greeted. Morland only gave him a sardonic smile.</p><p>“Don’t I always come to my son’s rescue when he asks for my help?” he asked, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his warm coat, but he didn’t take it off “I was in New York on business, so it didn’t take me long to come here”</p><p>“Tea, Mr Holmes?” Joan offered. If they needed his help, they’d better start warming up to him and treat him well.</p><p>“Yes Joan, thank you. I’ll be taking it downstairs with my son if you don’t mind” Morland answered, looking at her through his icy eyes “I have business to attend to with Sherlock, apart from this problem you seem to have trouble with”</p><p>Joan nodded, feeling uncomfortable she was being banished from the kitchen in her own home. Sherlock was about to complain, but she stopped him with her gaze before he could, and the words died in his mouth. He understood she was right, they needed all the help they could get and if the price was to allow them to speak in private, so be it. </p><p>She wasn’t very fond of the idea, of course. Her expression was sour as both Holmes walked downstairs towards the kitchen and she stayed behind; despite trying to hide it and reassure his friend by giving him a small smile when their eyes locked, before he trailed behind his father. She even briefly contemplated the idea of eavesdropping, just to make sure Sherlock was safe, of course, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Morland would most surely take notice, and she didn’t think Sherlock would appreciate it if she spied on them, she knew he would confide in her if something troubled him. </p><p>So, all she could do was wait until they emerged back from the kitchen. She went back towards the study and sat down on their red table, making some space in the chaos of paper to place her notebook and pen, and started to scribble some notes. They needed a fresh point of view.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Downstairs, Sherlock was standing next to the stove, waiting for the water to boil. He deliberately took his time to take out two mugs and place them in a tray with honey for his father and some sugar for himself, while Morland had already sat at the table.</p><p>“It is my understanding that you need my help in bringing someone to justice” the businessman said after a few seconds of silence.</p><p>“Something akin to that” Sherlock replied “but you do not need to bring him to justice, that’s what the NYPD is for. We just need something to lure him out. The man is in the wind”</p><p>Sherlock poured the hot water into the teapot, placing the cosy on it and then bringing it to the table. Meanwhile, he proceeded to explain the situation to Morland. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming when explaining what had been done to him in the past, that was something his father didn’t need to know, but he told him enough to pique his interest. </p><p>“I think I can manage to make an offer. I will pull some strings, call certain people... hopefully, we will have an answer by the end of the week” the businessman said. </p><p>Sherlock nodded, unconsciously bringing his hand towards his breast pocket.</p><p>“It’s the fourth time you’ve touched your pocket since I have arrived, son” Morland whispered, suspiciously. His eyes narrowed as if trying to x-ray Sherlock’s jacket to see what was inside the pocket “what are you hiding?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Sherlock said, rather abruptly. Too abruptly, in fact, for as soon as he said those words his father’s eyes almost closed with distrust.</p><p>“I will not put myself and my position in danger just so you can blatantly lie to me” he didn’t shout, but his voice was as dead-serious as if he did.</p><p>“I’m not lying to you. This is nothing of importance to the case” Sherlock tried, his voice shaking slightly. </p><p>He didn’t understand why he was feeling his anxiety riling up inside him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t faced his father countless times before! And yet, he could feel his heartbeat quickening and a few beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. He had to get out, and quick.</p><p>“What was that bottle you keep behind the mugs?”</p><p>The room was silent for a few seconds. No, it can’t be. <em>He can’t have seen those! </em>Sherlock thought. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“There are a couple of strange bottles behind the mugs. As if you’re trying to hide them, but still keep them within reach” Morland said.</p><p>His voice feigned calm, but his tone was most definitely accusatory.</p><p>“Tell me what you are hiding, or I will not move a finger to help you. And you know I always fulfil my promises” he demanded. </p><p>Sherlock’s breathing quickened. There was no escape, if he had seen the bottles he couldn’t make up a lie. How had he been so stupid?! He should’ve hidden the bottles better, he should’ve kept them all inside his room and only take them when they were going to be used, he should’ve... he stopped berating himself, he had to get out now! His legs started to move to get up from his seat when his father’s voice stopped him.</p><p>“NOW, SHERLOCK!” the voice reverberated in the kitchen. </p><p>He stopped dead in his tracks, his legs giving out and his body falling onto the chair again. His hands were clenching so much he was sure he was going to make them bleed. </p><p>When Morland used that tone, Sherlock was programmed to respond to his request since he was a child. He’d learnt that the hard way, and he felt shivers down his spine when he remembered how Morland’s <em>teachings</em> had felt to his bum. He felt himself slip, and panic set in his stomach. He couldn’t let that happen, not now. Not in front of <em>him</em>. He gulped, trying to choke back tears and go past the lump in his throat. </p><p>He wished, for just a split second, that his voice was enough to make Joan come downstairs and see what the commotion was. But she was upstairs, probably focused on the work and giving them privacy, and even if she had heard Morland’s demand she wasn’t going to come. Joan wasn’t going to save him, not this time. </p><p>He sighed, he really had no other option, no other way out. His hand was shaking when he put the fingers inside his breast pocket and produced the bee pacifier in his hand. He looked at it with fondness, the little gimmick had helped him immensely in the past few weeks. He tried to avoid looking at Morland in the eyes.</p><p>“This has been... helping me” he whispered. He hated that his voice sounded small and insecure, he was supposed to be confident in his choices, bloody hell! </p><p>But Morland wasn’t saying anything. He kept looking from Sherlock’s trembling hand with the pacifier on it, to his son’s face, his eyes a bit confused at first. But then it all seemed to make sense to him, and he knew Sherlock was most certainly not lying by the worry of his expression and the slight blush on his cheeks.</p><p>“I have kept my side of the bargain” Sherlock cleared his throat and whispered after what seemed like an eternity “you will keep yours”</p><p>Sherlock got up from the seat, ready to walk upstairs and escape this torment.</p><p>“DON’T YOU DARE GET AWAY FROM ME” Morland’s voice was loud and menacing, filled with controlled rage. </p><p>Sherlock’s stomach involuntarily twitched inside him when he heard his father’s tone. It was angry, more than that, it was outraged. Why exactly, Sherlock couldn’t pinpoint. He turned around to face his father but made a point of avoiding his eyes. He didn’t want to see anger and contempt in them, if he did he knew he would slip past the point of no return. It was hard as it was right now, and he forced his mind to practise deep breathing and mentally recall and catalogue all the different types of tobacco ash.</p><p>“So I assume you did not have enough with one childhood, now that you are a grown-up man you are trying to replicate it” his voice was deep and threatening, even when he was merely exposing what Sherlock was doing “was I such a bad father that you feel the need to go back and relive all of that? You know what you are like Sherlock, nobody could have raised you better than I did. And what does Joan do, does she pamper you, spoil you and dry your fat crocodile tears, telling you that everything will be fine?”</p><p>Morland snorted cruelly, he was now openly mocking Sherlock, who kept his head hung low. In his panic and fear, Sherlock could see Morland had taken what he was doing as a personal affront to his role as a father. </p><p>“You will cease this stupid endeavour” Morland ordered, his voice devoid of any warmth. It was hard and spat out the words as if it was disgusting to him to say them “I thought Joan would bring some sense into you, but the way I see it, you may not be using drugs but she is actually enabling you to fall into your binges”</p><p>“Don’t bring her into this” Sherlock tried to make his voice stern and firm, but it only came out slightly whiny. </p><p>“Oh I will bring her into this, she is allowing you to pursue this... nonsense. Believe me, Sherlock, you will not do this again” Morland threatened. He took one step, two, three towards his son, who was rooted in the spot. </p><p>Alarm bells were ringing in Sherlock’s mind, screaming at him to turn around and run upstairs, to hide in a room of the brownstone and never come out. But he couldn’t move, he was so scared of what his father might do to him he was petrified. He distantly registered that must’ve been a side effect of his little headspace trying to take over, since it had been decades since he’d been petrified by one of Morland’s scoldings. Now, though, he was so terrified he couldn’t move a muscle. His arms twitched involuntarily and she almost brought them towards his face to protect himself, should Morland resort to physical violence.</p><p>His father, however, did not do anything of the sort. He sported a sardonic side grin when he reached with his hand, took the pacifier from Sherlock’s still open hand, and without second thoughts, he squashed it in his hand until he felt some of the plastic parts breaking. If Sherlock hadn’t been horrified by what he was seeing, he would’ve been at awe that Morland’s grip was so strong he was capable of breaking the plastic. As it was, his eyes went wide and he couldn’t stop the hot tears that welled in his eyes, and which rolled down his cheeks when the businessman opened the trash bin and threw the destroyed dummy inside.</p><p>“I will talk to you soon,” he said as a farewell, and without waiting for Sherlock or even looking at him, he walked upstairs towards the front door and left, with no word for Joan.</p><p>Sherlock was still in the kitchen, standing in the middle of the room with tears springing from his eyes without him being even able to stop them. His shoulders heaved and he brought his hand to his face, hiding it from view.</p><p>He had thought he knew shame and self-loathing. He had been practising for a long time after his downfall with heroin, he thought he was intimately familiar with the thought processes and the hurtful feelings they stirred inside him. He was discovering now that he was wrong, for he had never been so humiliated and ashamed in all his life. </p><p>He sniffled once, twice, trying to regain control. He couldn’t let himself slip, he had work to do, and Watson would worry.</p><p>
  <em>Watson.</em>
</p><p>Had she heard their argument? Was she aware of what had transpired? Was she... was she as ashamed of him as Morland was?</p><p>The thought of Watson being ashamed of him brought a new bout of tears, he felt his heart constrict and his breathing became elaborate. He could live without his father’s love and support, he hadn’t had it in over four decades and he was used to it by now. But thinking that Joan may feel shame and embarrassment for him pained him to his very core. Why was she doing this, then? Was it because she felt pity for him, and thought she would humour him? How long would it take for her to get bored of mothering him and left? A sob escaped his mouth even as he tried to stifle it. If Joan left... he wouldn’t know what to do.</p><p>“Sherlock?”</p><p>Joan’s voice came from the upper floor. She couldn’t let her see him, she couldn’t let him know how low he’d fallen, how humiliated his father had made him feel. Perhaps he was right, perhaps he had been fooling himself into doing something he wasn’t meant to be doing, perhaps this was as bad as using drugs and falling into a downward spiral of negativity and loss of control. </p><p>Before Joan could come down to the kitchen he ran the stairs, taking two at a time. Joan was in the study but close to the stairs, she had been about to walk to the kitchen when he’d beat her to it. But since she was so near, even if he kept his head hung low, she saw his tears.</p><p>“Sherlock! What happened?” she took a couple of steps in a second, approaching him with a fast pace, but Sherlock stopped her.</p><p>“Nothing”</p><p>“I heard your father shout something and then he was storming off without a word, not even sparing a glance to me. What happened?”</p><p>“I said... nothing!” he shouted.</p><p>The pressure was becoming too much, he felt an acute pain in his chest as if someone was stabbing him with daggers, one by one pushing the blade inside the muscle and drawing blood drop by drop, until there was no more left to give. His vision blurred because of the tears, but he couldn’t stop. </p><p>He ran towards the upper floor, not minding Joan’s insistent calls and pleas to tell her what was wrong. He ran to his bedroom and closed the door behind him. His knees gave out and he slid down to the floor, his back against the door. His throat gave up trying to keep the sobs in, and without a warning, a pitiful wail came out. He brought his knees to his chest and hid his face in his arms. And he wept. He wept for the wonderful mornings with Joanie, he wept for the amazingly comforting feeling of the dummy inside his mouth, he wept for the calm and peace being little brought him. He wept, for he would not be able to do it again. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Joan’s leg kept bouncing up and down under the table. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the paper and pen in front of her, scribbling notes here and there every time she came across something that might be of interest on the files, but all to no avail. The voices she could hear from the floor below were distracting her, and she resorted to pacing the study back and forth, waiting for the two Holmes to emerge from the kitchen.</p><p>At one point she heard Morland’s powerful voice echoing through the walls, and her heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong. What was she to do, could she go downstairs? Was it advisable? She wasn’t sure Sherlock would appreciate it if she went, considering himself capable of dealing with his father on his own. </p><p>When she was about to send everything to hell and walk to the kitchen, Morland Holmes appeared. She turned around to talk to him, but the businessman kept walking without even sparing a glance to Joan, and in a few seconds, he crossed the landing and walked himself out of the brownstone. In the blink of an eye, he was gone.</p><p>Joan stood there, still watching the corridor Morland had walked away. Something had gone horribly wrong, that was sure, Morland could be lots of things but bad-mannered was not one of them.</p><p>“Sherlock?” she asked, raising her voice so Sherlock would hear her from below. She stood in silence, trying to listen, but no sound was coming from the kitchen. She took a few steps towards the door when Sherlock also emerged from the stairs. She was about to ask how it had gone, but the words died in her mouth when she saw tears on Sherlock’s eyes.</p><p>“Sherlock! What happened?”</p><p>“Nothing” his voice was low and hurt, he was obviously lying. </p><p>“I heard your father shout something and then he was storming off without a word, not even sparing a glance to me. What happened?” she insisted. He had been fine the entire day, feeling completely relaxed and at ease, but all she could see now was Sherlock’s control slipping away. His tears were still flowing down his cheeks, and she needed to know what Morland had told him to make him so upset.</p><p>“I said... nothing!” he shouted.</p><p>Without stopping to even look at her he ran the stairs towards the upper floor. Joan followed, calling him.</p><p>“Please Sherlock, stop! Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong” she pleaded, but he wasn’t listening. She followed his fast steps but wasn’t fast enough, when she got to the door of Sherlock’s room it was already closed.</p><p>She stood in front of it, panting a little, and she could hear Sherlock’s sobs coming through the door. Her heart sank and her fingers itched, whenever he cried she <em>had to </em>be with him, she felt useless and hurt whenever he was suffering and she could do nothing to ease his pain.</p><p>After a few minutes of insisting, all to no avail, Joan gave up for the moment. Perhaps Sherlock just needed some time to cool down first? In any case, she would get nowhere by banging on his door, so she decided to let him blow off some steam for a bit. </p><p>“I’m going downstairs. I’ll check on you later” she whispered, defeated, and walked the stairs towards the library.</p><p>She was restless and too anxious to focus on work, so she knelt in front of the fireplace and started to put logs into it, setting her mind on the task of getting a fire going. It was still a slow process for her, Sherlock had taught her little tricks to do it faster but when she wasn’t shivering from the cold, she actually enjoyed the slow methodical movements of putting the logs in place and starting a fire. When the hearth was crackling she sat down in front of it, letting the flames consuming the wood drive her mind far away from the library. </p><p>She couldn’t deduce what could’ve possibly gone wrong between Morland and Sherlock. They always had differences, it was a very strange occasion when both father and son agreed on something, but still. To bring Sherlock to that state, it had to have been something huge. But for the love of God, she couldn’t think of what. </p><p>The topic of May Holmes was still a sore subject between them but as far as Joan knew, they had already discussed that at length; and while it was something that affected Sherlock, it wasn’t something that would send him to his room crying and refusing to even speak with her. Mycroft’s death, Morland’s will, Moriarty’s organization... Joan went through the list of all the possibilities of topics they could’ve been discussing, but she couldn’t come up with anything.</p><p>Right then the doorbell rang and she jumped slightly, suddenly taken away from her thoughts. She got up from the floor and walked towards the front door, looking through the peephole. It was the deliveryman.</p><p>“Package for Joan Watson,” he said when she opened the door. Joan accepted the package in her open hand and tested its weight, it was light and quite small; she had no idea what it could be. She signed the papers and sent the deliveryman on his way, curious to open the package.</p><p>When she did, a sad smile appeared on her lips. It was the blankie she’d bought for Sherlock. She took it from the package and unfolded it. The touch was extremely soft and fluffy, exactly what she wanted for little Sherlock. The colour was a light beige, with brown and grey patterns here and there. It was a beautiful blanket, and she sincerely hoped this would help.</p><p>And in fact, she was going to test it right now. This argument with Morland had made him fall especially low, it would be a good opportunity for Sherlock to be little and allow himself to weep and work through the emotions he was feeling. Perhaps, if he was little, she would know what had happened and how to help him better. With a mischievous smile on her face, she walked up the stairs again, walking straight to Sherlock’s door.</p><p>“Sherlock? Open up, please. We won’t talk if you don’t want to, I’m just bringing you something” she called through the door.</p><p>She took a deep breath and waited until she heard rustling. Then, very slowly, she heard the bolt of the door being unlocked and the door opened slightly. She tried to get in but Sherlock planted himself in front of her, his gaze cast down. There were fresh tears on his cheeks and eyes, which could only mean he’d been crying the entire time.</p><p>“I bought something for you” she whispered with a soft, reassuring smile. </p><p>She handed Sherlock the blankie. The detective looked at her hand and then at her face, repeatedly, his eyes going wide with excitement. He liked it!</p><p>However, Joan kept observing him and she could pinpoint the exact moment Sherlock’s face fell and then, as if whipped, hardened. He pushed her hand out of the way, with the blanket still in it. </p><p>“Do you wish to baby me, Watson?” his tone was hard and sardonic “well, you can return the blanket if you so wish so, I am not going to sit here and be a baby only to entertain your desire to be a mother”</p><p>His words felt to Joan like she was being slapped on the face. Her expression went from excitement and reassurance to hurt in a second, but she forced herself to stop for a second and look at him, really <em>observe </em>him. She could clearly see the signs on him, anyone could if you knew where to look. And she had no doubts now, his wet eyes, square-set shoulders and clenched teeth told her enough, he needed to be little but was fighting his urges. That was the reason he was lashing out, he was hurt and wasn’t allowing himself the space to be little and deal with the pain.</p><p>However, even if she understood where he was coming from, Joan wasn’t about to put up with his misdirected rage. </p><p>“What’s gotten into you?” she exclaimed, “don’t lash out at me, I’m just trying to help!”</p><p>“I don’t <em>need </em>your help. I never have” he retorted.</p><p>“Hell, you don’t!” she answered angrily, but Sherlock was already moving the door, which closed on her face with a thud “Sherlock!” she exclaimed, but the door remained closed. </p><p>She was left there, standing, with the blanket in her hand and staring at the dark brown door. She didn’t understand why but Sherlock was closing himself off, pushing her away. He hadn’t done that since their beginnings when she was his sober companion, and even then, Sherlock never spoke to her with such unfiltered anger. It hurt to be treated like that by someone she cared about.</p><p>There was nothing else she could do, if Sherlock didn’t open up to her she couldn’t force him to do so. She turned around and walked downstairs with an acute pain in her chest and a heavy weight on her shoulders. She knew she would have to be patient and wait for Sherlock to break, and then catch him to prevent him from falling, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be hard. It was better to give him space for now; she wasn’t going to tolerate another one of his dismissals like this once again. </p><p>She sat again on the study and went to work, making her mind focus on the case and nothing else. It was going to be a long night indeed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sherlock reacts negatively to his father's threat, and none of his friends is happy. Lots of pain and tears!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hiii my dears!<br/>First of all, thank you to all of you silent readers who read and leave kudos. I see you and appreciate you! And thank you my dearest Gaby, for pushing me forward and encourage me with each chapter I write and post. I know I repeat myself, but THANK YOU!<br/>Second, here's the next chapter of the story, the aftermath of Morland's argument with Sherlock and his threat.<br/>I must do my due diligence and say that in this chapter and the next some dark topics will be discussed: drug use, gun violence... it's on the tags but I wouldn't like to trigger anyone, so, be warned.<br/>And again, if you have any suggestions or ideas, do let me know and I'll be happy to include them.</p><p>ENJOYYY!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joan had hoped the evening would appease Sherlock and after a few hours, he would allow her to get into his room, hug him and calm him down by the time it was bedtime. Perhaps the darkness of the night and his fatigue might crack Sherlock’s defences, she knew how cuddly and needy he could get when he was tired and hurt. But oh, how wrong she’d been.</p><p>For the first time in a few days, she was all alone in her bedroom in the brownstone. It felt empty and way too big for her, it had been a few nights since she had slept all alone without Sherlock’s body curling up beside her. Whenever she felt herself drifting into unconsciousness her arm stretched, and she jerked awake again when she found the other side of the bed cold and empty. She had tried to check on Sherlock a couple of times but he had barricaded himself in his bedroom and wouldn’t let her come in, wouldn’t even speak to her, only to shout “go away!” when she insisted.</p><p>So, she did. She gave him space even though she knew that wasn’t what Sherlock needed, but what could she do? Knock the door down and demand Sherlock to tell her what was going on? It was obviously something huge and pressing him wouldn’t solve it, if anything it would make things worse. No, all she could do was wait. </p><p>The evening gave way to the night, and she couldn’t sleep, she kept tossing and turning in bed. Feelings of guilt were crawling inside her like a powerful venom, purging her mind fr0m all the good memories she had of little Sherlock, of how well-mannered and happy he was when being little. She tried to keep the memories of Sherlock’s infectious laugh and vulnerable gaze, and how she swore she could swoon every time her little boy climbed onto her lap and fell asleep in her arms. </p><p>Joan felt she had to do something, she didn’t know what but anything was better than standing still. She was Sherlock’s caregiver, for crying out loud, she was responsible for his emotional and physical well-being, and it was killing her to be so far away from him. He was in his bedroom, just across the landing, all she had to do was open her door and walk to the end of the corridor. But Sherlock was close and yet, out of reach.</p><p>She didn’t think she had failed anyone as spectacularly as she had failed Sherlock. Only that same morning Sherlock had told her he trusted he wouldn’t be hurt by his father because she was with him, and that made him impervious to Morland’s words or accusations. As it turns out, Sherlock was wrong, Morland <em>still </em>had the power to hurt him and she couldn’t do anything to prevent it because Sherlock was pushing her away. </p><p>When the first sun rays of the morning came through the windows, lighting the brown tones of the room, she sighed and ran her hand through her dishevelled hair. If she had been able to steal a couple of hours of sleep, that was an overstatement.</p><p>The next few days were not much better. Sherlock was irascible, anxious and reckless. His tongue was fast but his wit was dry and sarcastic, and he constantly talked back to Marcus or the Captain. At least he’s talking to them, thought Joan, as Sherlock hadn’t spoken to her in days. When they were working he kept to his business, away from Joan, and when they were back at the brownstone he had exiled himself in the guest room next to the kitchen and didn’t come out until the next morning.</p><p> His foul mood increased and his sharp words worsened, bordering on insubordination, and Gregson was beginning to lose his patience.</p><p>“What the hell is wrong with him?!” he exclaimed on the fifth day. Sherlock was walking away from the Captain’s office, fuming and at a quick pace, while Marcus, Joan and Gregson stayed behind. Marcus’s eyes were wide open in surprise, alarm and confusion, and Joan’s brow was furrowed in deep concern. There was something very, very wrong and giving Sherlock space wasn’t solving it, it was actually making it worse.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Captain” Joan excused Sherlock’s behaviour “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Morland... he and Sherlock argued about something the other day, and he’s been in this state since then...”</p><p>“Has he... you know... <em>processed </em>things?” Marcus asked. The way he uttered the words made Joan see he was still a bit apprehensive about the whole issue, but he was trying not to be judgemental. She smiled sadly, Sherlock was really lucky to have such friends.</p><p>“No, and I’m worried about him. He’s fighting his urges, I haven’t been able to reach him and he hasn’t been little since the day you came by the brownstone” she answered, gesturing at the Captain with her head.</p><p>“But that was almost a week ago!” he exclaimed, “I thought you would take time to work things out, I thought...”</p><p>“Yes, I thought that too” Joan admitted. She felt the immense weight of her guilt crashing down on her, and a couple of tears welled up in her eyes. She sniffled and shook her head, not wanting to lose professionalism in front of her colleagues. But losing Sherlock was hurting her more than she wanted to admit “I tried to make him regress, but after your visit, he wanted to focus on the case. And then Morland came and... he’s been like this ever since”</p><p>Joan sighed, running her hands through her hair for the umpteenth time that day, and resisted the urge to just pull it. Her frustration was growing and she was at a loss as to what to do.</p><p>That night, Joan couldn’t sleep, as usual. The house was dead silent, Sherlock wasn’t doing any of his experiments, neither was he playing loud music at odd hours or practising single stick with Bob. She sighed, knowing sleep would elude her for the moment she walked downstairs to prepare herself a cup of tea or something warm.</p><p>When she got to the kitchen, she distinctively heard noises and didn’t need more than a second to know what they were. In the span of the few weeks Sherlock had been in little space Joan had developed what she liked to call her motherly instincts, and as every other mother in the world, she was acutely attuned to her child’s sounds of distress. And those noises were definitely Sherlock’s sobs coming through the door.</p><p>She walked silently towards the door, placing her ear against the wood, and the sobs intensified in volume when she did that. She heard them more clearly, and they were ripping her soul to pieces. She should be there, she should be holding Sherlock and calming him down, she should just knock the door down and gather Sherlock in her arms and not let go until he was calm enough, to hell with what he said! </p><p>But she couldn’t do any of those things.</p><p>“Sherlock...” she whispered. She heard his breath hitch and knew he heard her “Sherlock please, open up...”</p><p>“Go away...”</p><p>Those were the first words he’d spoken to her in days, and they brought tears to her eyes. She sniffled and placed a hand on the wooden door, wishing it could just disappear.</p><p>“Darling please... don’t push me away” she heard her voice break down and tried to stifle a sob “it’s killing me to see you like this... please, just... let me help you...”</p><p>She was barely aware of the hot tears slowly rolling down her cheeks and she gulped, trying to hear for any other noises coming from the room. There was silence for a moment, and she closed her eyes sincerely hoping, almost praying, that Sherlock would open the door.</p><p>“Leave me be...”</p><p>The voice died down and she heard the sounds of his sobs moving away from the door, soon all she could hear were faint noises. He had probably gone to bed. Her stomach twitched and turned uncomfortably when imagining Sherlock curling up in bed, trying to take up as little space as possible, all alone. She turned around to leave, more tears descending her cheeks. When she was walking up the stairs her knees buckled and sat down on them, and hiding her face in her hands and agony coursing through her body, she wept. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock had curled up against the door, hiding his face in his arms. That room was the only one he felt he was safe enough, not to mention it was convenient if he was peckish to go into the kitchen, grab something from the fridge and return unseen. If he was in his room, the chances of bumping into Joan would increase and knowing her, she would just be waiting for him to come out of the room to ambush him. </p><p>No, this way was better. He couldn’t bring himself to look into her eyes. If he did, she would see how much he actually needed her and was itching to just run into her arms, the only place he felt he was completely safe. When the whole world span around him and he couldn’t find his footing the only thing that was standing was Joan, like an anchor deep-rooted in the ocean floor. And if she saw what she was to him she would stay, and he couldn’t have that.</p><p>Being little had helped enormously in the few weeks he had done it, he had begun to feel more like himself than in months, maybe years. Having that option taken out and destroyed at his feet had brought in himself urges that he hadn’t had in a long while: he craved heroin, he craved drugs. And the craving was growing with every passing hour. </p><p>He had recognized a few years back that being sober was a hard, endurance-testing battle, one which required constant maintenance. It was a state, in his own words, you’re either in it or out of it. He had been in it for a few years after his relapse and the business with Oscar Rankin, but lately, the urges to forget had come back with full force. Only the presence of Joan in the brownstone prevented him from going out at night and running into the first drug dealer he could find, and knowing him, it wouldn’t take him long. He sought oblivion, he wanted his heart to feel numb, to forget all this agony he felt inside his heart and which was tearing him apart.</p><p>He knew it wouldn’t take long for him to fall. And if he fell, he didn’t want Joan to be the witness of his descent into Hell. She had to leave. </p><p>He snorted silently, a few days ago he had been terrified Joan would abandon him like his father and everyone else had. Now all he wanted was for Joan to leave. To walk away from him and never look back, so that when he was found in a dark alley with a syringe on his arm, Joan wouldn’t feel guilty about it.</p><p>It was also purely for selfish reasons. He knew what a relapse would cause to Joan, he had seen it in her eyes the first time around. The pity in her eyes was loathsome, he didn’t want to face her eyes hardening and looking at him with contempt. He was convinced she was ashamed of Sherlock and how he was using regression to cope, it had been a grave mistake, one that made him feel more embarrassed and humiliated even than with his father. Morland, at least, hadn’t lied about what he felt and thought of Sherlock’s “little endeavour”, but Joan had encouraged him to do it. As far as he was concerned, she had blatantly lied to his face and he simply refused to see the shame and embarrassment in her eyes. All he could do was put her out of her misery by letting her go. </p><p>He heard Joan’s voice coming from the other side of the door, and his heart jumped. He stifled his sobs, realizing he had been crying out loud the entire time, and told her to go away.</p><p>Suddenly, he felt his heart plummet. Joan’s voice came raspy and tearful, she was choking back tears, as she pleaded with him to let her in. He closed his eyes and brought a hand to his mouth, muffling the sob that escaped his throat when he realized he was causing her pain by pushing her away; if there was something he just <em>could not </em>deal with was to hurt Joan. He scrambled to his feet and stood there, breathing hard, thinking of what to do. His hand was almost on the doorknob, it would be as easy as unlocking the bolt and pushing the door to one side...</p><p>But he stopped at the last second. He had to be strong, it wouldn’t take much longer for Joan to give up on him, to see him as the lost cause he was. Joan had to leave, she had so much to live for and he couldn’t be part of her life. An addict should’ve never been part of someone as good, nurturing and kind as Joan was to him, his presence in her life was only a stubborn stain.</p><p>“Leave me be...” he whispered. He distantly recognized how rough and weepy his voice had sounded, but he couldn’t care less. He walked towards the bed and got under the covers, placing the duvet inside his mouth to muffle his sobs. He cried until there were no tears left in his eyes, and he had no memory of when he drifted off to sleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.--.-.-.-</p><p> </p><p>When Sherlock opened up his eyes again he had a text message from his father on his phone.</p><p>
  <em>Today, 11:30 am, Fort Greene Park. Call NYPD, make them standby.</em>
</p><p>He took the phone in his hands and texted his father back. Then, he texted Marcus, the Captain, and even sent a text to Joan herself. He didn’t want to risk it by talking to her face to face.</p><p>He got dressed and opened the door of the guest bedroom in silence, hoping Joan wasn’t having breakfast yet. The kitchen was deserted. He took the coat from the chair on his bedroom and left through the back door of the kitchen. He wanted to take fresh air and go for a walk, it was still early so he was in no particular rush. Plus, he had a lot to mull over. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Joan opened her eyes feeling already drained without even getting out of bed. She had never taken pills to sleep, she had always been able to drift off anywhere she was when exhaustion claimed her, and so she wasn’t used to dragging her body out of bed morning after morning without a shred of rest to show up for it. That she was even considering the idea of taking some pills that night showed the extent of her exhaustion.</p><p>She dragged her feet towards the bathroom and got in, splashing cold water into her face to wake up. She looked in the mirror and saw pale cheeks and big bags under her eyes. She hadn’t seen Sherlock since last afternoon, but she had checked and he had the same horrible look on his face, which meant he was having a hard time resting too. Oh, he always went on and on about how he didn’t need as much sleep, and he had gone days without stopping even for a couple of hours, but she knew that even him required to rest, and it was already six days since his argument with Morland.</p><p>Joan made the decision while she took a quick, cold shower and brushed her hair, she wasn’t cutting Sherlock any more slack. It was clear that giving him time to process wasn't working, both Sherlock and herself were suffering because of the rift between them, and she wasn’t going to allow anything else to come between their relationship. </p><p>This went deeper than Sherlock using regression as a means to cope, this went beyond her missing her little boy climbing to her lap, searching for comfort and affection. She missed her partner and best friend.</p><p>For years they had developed this friendship and partnership, at first focusing on work but then expanding to all aspects of each other’s lives. Joan knew she could count on Sherlock for everything, and Sherlock was aware he was extended the same courtesy, having proven to each other just how far they were willing to go for each other. </p><p>While they were able to live without each other and they had done so in the past, they simply didn’t wish to. They knew they were better because they were together, they had become each other’s number one priority. And on the sixth day, as cold water was hitting Joan’s aching muscles and waking her up, she realized she not only missed her adorable little detective, but also the man she had shared her life with for the past years. </p><p>And she wasn’t going to let anything rob her of what she valued most in her life. Not even Sherlock himself. </p><p>She went downstairs to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and realized the door to the guest room was already open, which meant Sherlock was gone. She frowned and checked her phone, thinking that perhaps in the haze of her exhaustion she had missed a call from Marcus or Gregson. She was surprised to see a text from Sherlock himself, telling her when and where Hernan Lopez would be.</p><p>She sighed and drank the scalding coffee in one gulp, grimacing at the dull pain of the burn in her tongue, and made for the front door. The taxi ride to the precinct was strange without Sherlock by her side, and she spent the silence the cabbie provided to think about how to best tackle the conversation she was going to have with Sherlock later in the day. </p><p>She sincerely hoped today was a good day and they could catch Hernan first, though. Joan may have been mad at Sherlock and hurt and frustrated by his behaviour, but she wasn’t going to pull him out of the case, she wasn’t that cruel. She hoped that, if they finally caught Hernan, Sherlock would get the closure he desired and perhaps his mood would improve substantially. All she hoped was that their conversation wasn’t as bleak as all the scenarios in her head played it out to be.</p><p>“No Sherlock?” the Captain said when she emerged from the lift of the 11th precinct as he was coming from the coffee machine to his office.</p><p>“No, he wasn’t home when I woke up” Joan exhaled.</p><p>“Listen, are you sure he’s alright?” the Captain asked as he walked towards his office and Joan walked beside him “both of you have had a pretty rough week, and...”</p><p>“If you mean if he’s been using, I don’t think so. His commitment to sobriety is essential to him. But then again, he has been hiding from me this week...” Joan’s suspicions started to arise, along with her fear. If Sherlock had relapsed or was thinking about using drugs, she had to stop him before he made a mistake he would later regret “I was planning to talk to him tonight. Hopefully, we can catch this guy and put him away for good, and the conversation will be easier...”</p><p>“Yeah about that” Gregson said conversationally as he closed the door to his office “listen, I don’t think he should be anywhere near the man. I let him come to the building they had you in because he begged me to and he almost lost his mind without you... but now I just don’t see him following my orders, and I can’t let him or anyone else to be put in danger”</p><p>“Something tells me he will already be at the park by the time we get there” Joan whispered, somewhat frustrated “I will try to talk to him... but I have to say, I can’t promise anything. He doesn’t speak to me”</p><p>“But maybe he still listens,” the Captain said with a soft smile “I don’t know what happened, it is clearly something huge if he’s pushing you out of his life. But I think you have to push back, maybe he’ll react that way”</p><p>“I honestly hope you’re right” Joan answered, deflated. </p><p>They heard the door opening and Marcus’ head peeped in through.</p><p>“Hey, I’m not interrupting I hope?” he asked, Joan shook his head “good, I think we should get ready”</p><p>Joan got up from her seat and followed Marcus and the Captain, going downstairs and climbing into a car. It wasn’t a blue and white police car, that was too conspicuous, and they didn’t want to raise any suspicions. When they got to the park everyone took their positions, Joan scanned the people and could distinguish a few policemen and women in street clothes walking around; most of them passed as regular people spending a morning in the park. She hoped they were lucky.</p><p>“Let’s go over the plan once again” the Captain whispered before they got out of the car “when we see him we will have to observe. According to Sherlock, Hernan will be meeting Morland here in this park, so we will have to wait until they are talking. Then, we will detain him”</p><p>Suddenly there was a commotion and they all turned their heads towards the park. Two of the policemen had taken their guns out and were pointing at two men who were staring at each other, a few feet of distance. One of them was Hernan, and the other was Sherlock.</p><p>“Sherlock, no!” Joan exclaimed, her voice laden with fear as she quickly recognized the figure of her partner. She was about to run to them, sprint like she had never done before, but Marcus’ hand on her arm prevented her from doing that. She didn’t take her eyes off Sherlock, and she managed to wriggle out of Marcus’ grip when she saw, as in slow motion, Hernan shooting his gun and Sherlock falling to the floor.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock had been in the park for quite some time. He had talked to his father, he knew he wasn’t going to show up to the park, so it was all up to him. Well, that was a way of putting it, he had already located seven police officers from the precinct in civilian clothes, surely keeping an eye on everyone who seemed suspicious. He hid from them, expertly avoiding their keen eyes, he couldn’t risk anyone recognising him and pulling him out of the mission before he could complete it.</p><p>It was nearly 11.30 am when Hernan Lopez finally appeared. He looked every bit as normal as everyone else in the park, just a regular guy going for a stroll. He waited until Hernan was at a close distance, and then emerged from his hiding place.</p><p>“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Sherly himself” Hernan cocked his head and chuckled mischievously “I should’ve known you would be here”</p><p>“It is I who planned this, not Morland. You should know better who to trust, Hernan” Sherlock answered with venom. It was pleasurable to a degree, talking to the subject of his tortures knowing finally who he was, putting a name and a face to the feelings of pain and despair.</p><p>“Of course, Morland Holmes. I already knew who he was before I accepted his offer, I assume you know that” Hernan’s voice was mischievous and light, he seemed to be paying no mind to the imminent threat to his freedom “what surprises me is to see you here, and not your friends of Major Crimes. Oh, wait, they probably are here too”</p><p>Sherlock quickly scanned the area and located Marcus’ car in the distance. His heart skipped a beat, but focused again on his job, his trained eyes on Hernan.</p><p>“I just want to ask you one thing,” he said to him “why did you do it?”</p><p>“Why did I do what?” his side smile turned into a wicked, lopsided grin “take you? Take your precious little Joanie?”</p><p>Sherlock’s hands closed into fists when he heard the name he used, only <em>he </em>could call her that!</p><p>“Because I could,” he said, opening his arms in a gesture that meant to be saying he wasn’t hiding anything “you had become notorious for your work, and you always sported that smug grin. I hated it. So, I vowed to erase that grin from your face forever”</p><p>“That’s a lie” Sherlock snarled. Hernan was trying to be nonchalant, but Sherlock had noticed the hitch on his breathing and the almost imperceptible twitch of his eye, the haptic clues were all over him “if that’s true then why use Sarah?”</p><p>At the mention of Sherlock’s ex-lover, Hernan’s expression hardened, his brows frowning and his stance changing to a more threatening one. His arms tensed at both sides of his body and his hands clenched into fists. Suddenly, everything clicked.</p><p>“She was your girlfriend, wasn’t she” it wasn’t even posed as a question. Sherlock just <em>knew, </em>and the way Hernan snarled at his words made it crystal clear. Sherlock berated himself. How didn’t he see it sooner? </p><p>“She was MINE! And you took her from me!” Hernan shouted. Then he breathed hard through his nose, and his voice turned deeper, like an animal growl “and nobody messes with my business. So, I took matters in my own hands”</p><p>“I didn’t know she was with you, she never said” Sherlock explained, “if you had taken the time to find out －”</p><p>“Oh! And you expect me to believe that the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever consulting detective, didn’t even check her story?” Hernan interrupted.</p><p>“Why would I? I don’t have the habit of prying into other people’s affairs without reason” Sherlock answered, “what happened to Sarah?”</p><p>“She died. Tragic accident. Got caught in the crossfire of two rival gangs” Sherlock felt something akin to pain in his chest, he didn’t spend much time with Sarah before he was taken, but he cared about her. He felt sorry for how she met her end.</p><p>“Same as Tom Trevor, the man you got recently killed? Was he also caught in the crossfire?” Sherlock asked with sarcasm, something in Hernan’s words made him know he just was toying with him. </p><p>“Trevor was an unfortunate case. He tried to double cross me under my very nose, and I can’t tolerate that” Hernand responded.</p><p>Sherlock stayed silent, looking at the head of the gang in the eyes. He was admitting he had done all those killings and kidnappings, but if they couldn’t prove it, if they couldn’t find anything to connect him to any of the crimes, the whole thing would be a bust.</p><p>“And Joan?” Sherlock asked finally. </p><p>“Joan was simply a means to an end. I wanted to get to you, and as I told you, you are a packaged deal. Surprisingly, she’s keeping her distance and she isn’t here with you, but I assume you told her to stay away...” Hernan located Joan and greeted her with his head, but she didn’t react.</p><p>Sherlock closed his hands into fists, Joan’s ordeal hadn’t meant anything to Hernan. She could’ve been tortured and killed if they hadn’t found her sooner, he could’ve lost her forever... he couldn’t forgive it. </p><p>“It is over, Hernan. You’ve got nowhere to go” Sherlock whispered maliciously, gesturing with his head to the pedestrians walking around them “the park is surrounded”</p><p>“You’ve got nothing on me, Sherly” his smug tone had returned, and he dedicated a side smirk to Sherlock.</p><p>“We’ll see about that” </p><p>
  <em>BANG.</em>
</p><p>Sherlock prided himself in self-preservation techniques and constantly trained himself to escape certain life-threatening situations. What he wasn’t prepared for, even though his reflexes were better than the average man his age, was for Hernan to take his gun out so quickly and fire it without even pointing at him first. He managed to dodge the bullet on time, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid it completely at such close range and the bullet grazed against his shoulder. </p><p>“SHERLOCK!” a terrified scream by a voice he knew well brought him to his senses, just as he felt agonizing pain on his shoulder that made his knees buckle. </p><p>He fell to the floor, his hand instantly going to his injured shoulder and his throat emitting a painful scream. The burning sensation was agonizing and he felt hot tears welling up in his eyes. He peripherally saw two policemen with their guns pointing at Hernan while Marcus pinned him to the ground and he and another cop put the handcuffs on his wrists. But the pain quickly made him squeeze his eyes shut.</p><p>He distantly registered a pair of delicate hands grabbing him and holding him before his body went limp, his strength was failing him. His body was turned over and for the first time in days, he was face to face with Joan’s terrified eyes. </p><p>“It’s alright, Sherlock, the ambulance’s just around the corner” she whispered. He saw tears in her eyes and he tried bringing his hand up to her cheek, but it was too heavy and painful, the arm would’ve fallen to the floor if Joan hadn’t caught it with one of her hands, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing his knuckles. He closed his eyes, but Joan jerked him awake.</p><p>“No, don’t go to sleep just yet” she really tried to hide it but Sherlock could sense a hint of panic in her voice, and her eyes were wet and full of tears, she blinked repeatedly to dry them away. It scared him, why was Joan afraid? She was always by his side, making sure he was safe. If she was scared it meant, it meant... </p><p>“’oanie…” he pleaded, not caring that his voice was quivering and his lower lip trembled “take me ‘ome, p’ease…”</p><p>He closed his eyes and more tears descended his face, the tone of his voice was desperate, needy and insecure, he was slipping down fast. </p><p>“It’s okay honey” she whispered, trying to sound reassuring “Joanie will take you home in a bit, okay? You’ll be fine…”</p><p>The paramedics finally arrived and rushed towards them, Sherlock’s hand tried to get hold of her but she had to move away from him to let them help. As soon as Sherlock lost contact with her the sobs returned, she could hear his desperate pleas, begging her not to leave him, and the fact that he could not see her terrified him. He kept forcing his head around, trying to locate her, his eyes wide open in alarm and not listening to what the paramedics were telling him to do. It was a heartbreaking sight and without thinking about it, she moved around the paramedics who were kneeling on each side of Sherlock’s head. She moved right behind him and between the two men.</p><p>“Shhhh it’s alright Sherlock, I’m over here...” she knelt on the floor and placed both her hands on Sherlock’s forehead, reaching down and kissing his hair “they will make it better, don’t worry... I won’t leave...”</p><p>She stayed in the same position all the time it took the paramedics to check his injury and see that it wasn’t life-threatening, the pain and panic he was feeling were caused by the situation, but not by the injury itself. They placed a gurney next to Sherlock and pulled him onto it, Sherlock was still moving his head around to see her but he couldn’t.</p><p>“Joanie!” he was calling her, his voice a pitiful whimper and his hands flailing in all directions, disregarding what the paramedics were telling him. She stopped the gurney and walked to his side, feeling a mixture of relief and pain when Sherlock saw her and whimpered audibly.</p><p>“I’m with you, darling” she whispered, but Sherlock wasn’t convinced. He grabbed her hand and pulled, and soon he placed her forehead against her forearm and closed his eyes as he wept, racking sobs coursing through his body.</p><p>“Don’t leave me... don’t...” he was trying to say, but the sobs didn’t let him speak. Joan knew he had to calm him down if the paramedics wanted any chance of looking at his injury. So, she got even closer to the gurney and pulled Sherlock’s face away from his forearm, just enough to cup his cheeks with her two hands.</p><p>“Honey, listen to me” she spoke with a soft voice, not minding that the two medics were next to them, waiting to push the gurney towards the ambulance. She bowed forward and placed her face mere inches away from Sherlock’s, her gaze fixed on his, looking at the terrified expression of his eyes and the darkened bags under them “it’s alright, I’m right here and won’t go anywhere. But you have to get that looked at, okay darling? Can you do that?”</p><p>Sherlock was still looking at her, confused and scared, but slowly nodded with his head. She smiled softly and pecked his forehead quickly.</p><p>“That’s my good boy” she praised in a whisper only for him to listen.</p><p>Finally, the gurney was led towards the ambulance, and when they got there Joan noticed Marcus and the Captain had followed them and were standing only a few feet away from the ambulance. </p><p>Once inside the ambulance, Sherlock was made to sit on the gurney, and he complied. However, he still stretched his hand and looked at Joan with pleading, tear-stricken eyes. Joan had no heart to refuse him, so she grabbed his hand while she delicately brought it to her lips. </p><p>It had been only mere days, but it felt so much longer since the last time they had shared any physical contact, and she had had no idea how much she had missed the warmth of Sherlock’s body. From the way his hand was grabbing hers, his fingers tightly squeezing hers, she assumed he needed it as much as hers. She squeezed his hand as gently as she could, not breaking the eye contact, while Sherlock looked at her and sniffled, silent lonely tears still rolling down his cheeks from time to time. </p><p>“Let them have a look at that, okay honey? It will be done soon” she whispered encouragingly. Sherlock nodded but didn’t let go of her hand until another paramedic, this time a woman, started to take off his coat and blazer. Joan stood in front of Sherlock, not holding his hand but still near him and in his line of vision.</p><p>When the coat and blazer were out of the way Joan could see splashes of blood, and very slowly the paramedic started to peel the shirt away from his skin. Sherlock, who wasn’t taking his eyes off Joan now that she was in front of him, sat very still, even though his expression and tight jaw showed his discomfort. The paramedic took a look at the wound while she put on a pair of gloves and took the disinfectant in her hands.</p><p>“Thankfully it was superficial, the bullet has only grazed your skin” she commented “this will be done in no time”</p><p>Sherlock didn’t react, for a few seconds everything was silent, but everyone could feel the tension building in the atmosphere. Joan kept watching him, all her thoughts and feelings running through her head. She was mad that he had been avoiding her for a week, and she was enraged that he had placed himself in harm’s way deliberately to face Hernan, but perhaps now that Sherlock was little wasn’t the best moment to demand answers.</p><p>“When are you leaving?”</p><p>Sherlock spoke for the first time in a while, and his question took her by surprise.</p><p>“Leaving where?”</p><p>“The brownstone. When...” he stopped to take a deep breath, and even though his eyes were looking down to the floor, she could see a couple of tears falling from his eyes to the ground “when are you leaving me?”</p><p>His words felt as if someone had punched Joan in her gut. She had been getting angrier every day Sherlock avoided her, not understanding why he was reacting like that. But now that Hernan was in custody, now that Sherlock’s urges were finally catching up with him... how bad was it inside his head, that he believed she was leaving him? Her mind took her to only a couple of weeks ago, when it had taken her an entire day to convince Sherlock she wasn’t abandoning him, and every time she left the room he would burst into tears, no matter in how many ways she tried to convince him. How had they gone back to that?</p><p>“Hey...” she whispered in a reassuring voice as she took one step closer “why do you think I would leave?”</p><p>But Sherlock could not answer. His brain was processing the fact that Hernan had been caught. He would most likely serve a life sentence for his deeds if they managed to prove his involvement.</p><p>It was over. It was finally over. </p><p>But the thought, instead of bringing him the peace and calm he had so desperately sought, was almost bringing him to tears. He had freed himself from a burden he had carried for so long, and yet, <em>knowing </em>Joan was going to leave was killing him. <em>Isn’t this what you wanted? To free her from the burden of you?</em> A voice in his head asked, and he shook his head violently. </p><p>When Sherlock finally looked up to Joan, more silent tears were rolling down his cheeks. He tried to stifle a sob but it found a way out and mere seconds later he was openly sobbing. The paramedic stopped her ministrations, worried that she had hurt him in some way, but when she was about to ask Sherlock’s body fell forward. Joan’s instincts kicked in and she was in front of him in a heartbeat, holding him so he didn’t fall to the ground.</p><p>“I’m sorry!” he wailed. Feeling Joan’s hands on his arms, steadying him, was breaking the little resolve he still had, and he found no strength left to fight “I’m sorry Joanie, I’m sorry I’ve been bad... I’m sorry...”</p><p>Joan said nothing. She could hear Sherlock’s remorse in his voice, and there was a tone of fear. Deciding the much-needed conversation could wait a bit longer she allowed her instincts to guide her actions, and she gently gathered Sherlock in her arms. Joan was petite, much shorter than Sherlock, but because he was sitting on the gurney and she was standing he really looked small. And he looked even smaller when, upon realizing what she was doing, his arms went around her midriff and squeezed her hard against him, his face hiding in her shirt and trying to find refuge against her stomach.</p><p>She felt wetness on her shirt due to his tears and heard him struggling for breath every few seconds, trying to silence his cries but unable to. His entire body was shaking uncontrollably with his sobs and gasps, and he was squeezing her so tight that she was sure he had torn the few stitches the paramedic had been able to apply. She would have to look at those, but first, she had a little boy to calm down.</p><p>Her hands moved slowly towards the back of his head and neck, running her fingers through his hair, pulling and rubbing with gentle motions. She was concerned and with adrenaline still coursing through her body, but she also felt relieved: from the way Sherlock was clinging to her, he couldn’t fight his need to be little any longer, and at last, he had started to slip. He finally was giving in. And while she knew looking after little Sherlock would be an arduous task, it was positive for him that he was finally allowing himself to <em>feel</em>. </p><p>“I’m so’y, I p’omise I be good...” Sherlock kept repeating his words like a mantra, his speech slurring with every passing minute. His mind was dropping, his hands squeezing Joan’s blazer on her back, his fingers clutching the fabric with almost desperation. She wasn’t even sure <em>what </em>exactly he was apologising for, but she would have time to find out. For now, she was trying to ground him to the present, the here and now, as her hands played with his hair the way she knew he liked and helped calm him. </p><p>“Shhhh it’s alright honey... I'm not going anywhere, you're safe... just breathe...” Joan whispered. She looked at the paramedic, who was still standing behind Sherlock with pincers on her hand, but Gregson chimed in and dismissed her silently with a gesture of his hand and a silent apology on his eyes. Joan would’ve thanked him but Sherlock had a firm grasp of her and she couldn’t move, much less turn around.</p><p>When it seemed that Sherlock was slowly calming down a bit, her hands moved from the back of his head to his cheeks, gently cupping them to move his face up and make him look at her eyes. It had been days since she had looked at his beautiful orbs, and she felt shivers down her spine when their gazes locked. </p><p>His eyes were bulgy and tear-stricken, his entire face blotchy and red, but she tried to smile at him reassuringly. Very slowly she pulled a cloth handkerchief from her pocket and used it to dry Sherlock’s tears from his eyes and face.</p><p>Sherlock was still hiccuping from time to time but Joan’s face was close to his, only inches away, and shushed whenever his throat let out a hiccup. She took his time in cleaning his face, making him blow his congested nose and giving him time to compose himself. By the time he was clean, he seemed a bit calmer and was breathing normally.</p><p>“Let me take a look at that shoulder, okay?” she whispered with an affectionate smile and soft voice “and then, you and I will go home”</p><p>Joan moved from Sherlock’s line of vision towards his back and grabbed a pair of latex gloves to put on her hands, and it was then that Sherlock realized Marcus and the Captain had been standing there the entire time, observing their exchange. If they were surprised they kept it hidden, for Sherlock couldn’t see any judgement or criticism in their eyes, but he still couldn’t hold their gaze. He averted his eyes to the floor.</p><p>His mind was fighting an internal battle, his little urges fighting to take control, his mind was screaming for Joanie to hold him like she used to. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be held by her caregiver, and the way she had allowed him to hug her now was bringing back painful memories. </p><p>He couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t go back, he couldn’t be little anymore. What would... what would his father do if he heard? And seeing his appalling behaviour these last days... he didn’t think he deserved any of it. </p><p>He knew he had behaved horrendously these past days. He had been cruel and disrespectful to all three of them, feeling a pang in his heart when he realized just to what extent he had hurt them all. He had dismissed and talked back to Marcus and the Captain, the few people who gave him a chance all those years ago and proved, time after time, how deserving of his regards they were. And Joan, <em>his Joanie</em>, who had endured all kinds of hardships just to remain by his side and who he had just pushed away and insulted in every possible way. He felt his eyes welling up with tears again and he closed them shut while bowing his head, his hands closing in fists on his lap. He deserved <em>nothing</em>.</p><p>“Hey, Sherlock”</p><p>Sherlock opened his eyes when he heard Marcus’ soft voice closer to him than what he remembered the man was standing. When he opened his eyes, there were a couple of knees in his line of vision.</p><p>“It’s okay, buddy” Marcus whispered with a soft expression on his face. He had crouched down in front of him, his face close to Sherlock’s to make him focus on him “Joanie just needs to clean and stitch your injury, it will only take a minute. That’s all”</p><p>But Sherlock didn’t understand. Why wasn’t Marcus angry with him? Why wasn’t the Captain telling him he was suspended from working with the police, this time forever? Why wasn’t Joan shouting at him? Why was everyone so kind, when he had been... when he had hurt them so much...</p><p>Even though he wasn’t crying now, the flow of tears down his cheeks never stopped and he felt them fall onto his lap when suddenly something warm grabbed his hands. He looked down and it was Marcus’ fingers, gently grabbing and squeezing his hand.</p><p>“It’s alright Sherlock, it will be done in no time,” Marcus thought he was crying because of the pain on his shoulder, but if he was honest, he was so distraught that he paid no mind to the burning sensation on his shoulder. He shook his head, Marcus <em>needed </em>to understand.</p><p>“It’s not that I... I sorry” Sherlock whispered. His voice sounded quavering and he cleared his throat, gasping for breath “I hurt you... what I said... I... sorry...”</p><p>He couldn’t hold Marcus’ gaze any longer, he closed his eyes and bowed his head so much that his chin rested against his chest, hiding in shame. Now all three understood, Sherlock was apologising for his behaviour this past week. The Captain took a step in their direction and bent forward next to Marcus, placing a hand on Sherlock’s knee.</p><p>“Yes, you hurt us and were disrespectful. I won’t tolerate that” Sherlock’s breath hitched and Gregson applied pressure on his knee to catch his attention “but we’re also your friends. I know you’re hurting, so we will talk about it later”</p><p>“Later?”</p><p>“He just means that you don’t have to worry about that for now” Marcus added with a lopsided smile “just focus on getting better. Okay?”</p><p>Sherlock felt his hand squeezed and he nodded, a couple of rebel tears rolling down his cheeks when he felt even more loathsome than before. He really didn’t deserve the friends he had.</p><p>“I’m sorry” he insisted one last time, Gregson squeezed his knee and smiled reassuringly. </p><p>He knew Joan was nearly finished when she felt a pull on his shoulder a bit stronger than the burning sensation he had been feeling the entire time, and he heard her cut the thread she’d used to stitch him up. Then, she applied a bandage to the wound to make sure it would stay clean and dry.</p><p>“Okay, you’re all done,” she said, and he could hear her exaggeratedly chirpy tone in her voice while he felt his shirt being put on his back “now put this on, I don’t want you catching a cold”</p><p>Sherlock nodded and tugged at the shirt sleeves while Joan took off her gloves. He was beginning to feel exhaustion pulling at him, and he looked at her in silence, willing to go wherever she took him.</p><p>“Thank you, guys, I think we’ll head home now,” Joan said to Marcus and the Captain. Sherlock took his cue to get up from the gurney and walk to Joan, still staggering, as she grabbed him by the arm to steady his wobbly legs “we’ll see you soon”</p><p>“Take care, both of you,” the Captain said, Marcus just nodded with his head and squeezed Sherlock’s good shoulder when they walked in front of them and towards a police car that would take them to the brownstone. </p><p> </p><p>The ride home was met in silence. Joan’s head was spinning in confusion, there were lots of things with Sherlock that just didn’t make sense. The most obvious one was: was he in little space now? The way he had sobbed his heart out against her and clung to her at the ambulance suggested so, but the way he had spoken to Marcus and the Captain, even though it wasn’t exactly like his adult self, showed that he wasn’t as little as she’d expected him to be. It was like he was in-between, or as if he <em>wanted </em>to be little but wasn’t completely allowing himself to be so.</p><p>Then there was his behaviour. The place was surrounded by police, he knew that because it was he who had sent a text to their friends, so why would he jump in front of him? If he wanted to face him he would’ve had ample opportunity once he was in custody, he would’ve even been able to interrogate him, so why put himself in harm’s way? </p><p>She applied her deduction skills and she just knew one thing: it all went back to Morland. The conversation with his father held all the clues, but no matter how many times Joan thought about it, she couldn’t discern why WHY Sherlock would refuse to be little right after speaking to him. He wasn’t little then, so there was no chance of Morland finding out what he was doing, so what was it? </p><p>They got to the brownstone quicker than usual, or at least that’s what Joan felt when she got off the police car and said goodbye to the two policemen. Sherlock waited for her to climb up the front stairs and open the door, and walked slowly towards the coat rack to hang his coat as Joan did the same.</p><p>Now that the fear had gone and the rush of adrenaline was wearing off, she was mad at Sherlock. Mad and confused. All she had ever wanted to do was to help him, to make his second childhood a happy one, and she had vowed to protect her little boy no matter the costs. What she didn’t expect was to be attacked by the only person she had sworn to protect.</p><p>Sherlock’s words and silent treatment the past few days had hurt immensely. Only a few weeks back she was thinking about how amazing it was to consider herself, for all intents and purposes, a mum. After playing with little Sherlock and taking care of him while being little, she realized that she didn’t want to become a mother, but that in fact, all she wanted was to take care of him. It didn’t matter she wasn’t actually his mum, it didn’t matter that Sherlock didn’t need her 24/7 as a real child would. All that mattered was that she was happy with her role as a caregiver and willing to give him everything he had lacked the first time around. </p><p>So, Sherlock’s words mocking her desire to be a mother had stung precisely because she wanted to be a mother <em>to him</em>. His dismissals and silent treatment had been as hurtful as his words, and she was having a hard time forgetting just how cruel Sherlock could be if he set his mind to it. Regardless of his cruelty not stemming from a dark heart, but from denial and fear, she needed an explanation.</p><p>Joan sighed as she walked straight to the library and knelt to make a fire. She paid no mind to Sherlock, who seemed to be struggling to undo the laces of his shoes with one hand until he gave up and took them off without undoing them first. </p><p>“You’re angry” Sherlock whispered. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t even looking for confirmation, it was a statement. His voice didn’t sound little even though his stance did, and this battle, the push and pull between his sides was even more confusing for Joan. She snorted as she put logs into the hearth.</p><p>“Am I? Great observation, hadn’t noticed” she answered, and stopped when she heard just how sarcastic and bitter her voice was. She forced herself to breathe, in and out, to gain some control back.</p><p>Once there were sufficient logs she started the fire, and then she turned around to face Sherlock. He was exactly in the same position she had left him, standing up near the maroon sofa, his mismatched socks showing a hint of tension when his toes didn’t stop wriggling. She looked at him and beckoned him closer, he obeyed silently and sat down in front of the hearth, a few feet away from her.</p><p>She sighed sadly. He was scared, the distance between them told her as much. Never since starting being little (that is, until last week) had Sherlock been in the same room as Joan and yet so far away. She tried to push down her feelings of disappointment; if Sherlock had noticed she was angry it was understandable he wouldn’t come near her.</p><p>“I’m going to ask you a question, and I expect you to answer honestly,” Joan said. Sherlock nodded with his head “what happened between you and your father?”</p><p>“Nothing, I...”</p><p>“I said no lies” Joan interrupted when she saw Sherlock trying to scramble away from the conversation “I’ve done some thinking, Sherlock. There is absolutely nothing that explains your attitude except for your father. Ever since he came here you’ve been withdrawn and cruel, not only to me but to our friends as well. It will not be tolerated, and I want to know what happened to make you behave like that”</p><p>Sherlock was silent. She had, of course, given the situation some thought and had come to the only logical conclusion. Joan was, in all respects, as good a detective as he was.</p><p>“So. Do you want to try again?” </p><p>He gulped and closed his eyes. His jaw clenched and he closed his hands in fists, his entire body tensing when he remembered Morland’s threat. He felt a lump on his throat but he gulped and pushed it back down, along with the tears that threatened to spill.</p><p>“He found out about me being little” Sherlock stated. His eyes went to the crackling fire in the hearth and gazed upon a fixed point in the space, watching as the flames revolved and surrounded the spot as they danced “he saw the bottles behind the mugs and made me tell him what I was doing. He thought I was lying about the case...”</p><p>Joan stayed silent, she didn’t make a sound, allowing Sherlock to continue.</p><p>“But when... when I told him he... t-threatened me. He was m-mad” Sherlock tried but couldn’t contain his sobs anymore and that made him stutter, but he didn’t care. He just had to tell Joan, to get everything off his chest “he t-thought it was an attack on him as a fa-father...”</p><p>Suddenly, everything made sense to Joan. Sherlock had never told her exactly how Morland used to instil his <em>teachings </em>on him, but she didn’t need to be a detective to read between the lines. Those teachings had made Sherlock terrified of his father’s power over him, even as an adult. In normal circumstances, he knew Sherlock was capable of wriggling himself out of any situation with his father, but being attacked for wanting to be little was bound to have a devastating effect on him. </p><p>“Is that why you’ve been avoiding being little?”</p><p>Sherlock nodded his head.</p><p>“He said I not do it again” Sherlock sniffled, wiping away the tears of his cheek with his sleeve “h-he said it was s-stupid and...”</p><p>But Sherlock couldn’t continue, his voice died down as he closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a fine line, breathing hard as he tried to contain his sobs. </p><p>Joan observed him, her soul yearning for her little boy back, she just wanted to make it better. She knew all he needed to finally let go was his dummy, the little object that comforted him and which she knew he wore in the breast pocket of his jacket.</p><p>“Honey, where is your bee paci?”</p><p>And Joan was caught by surprise, for those words were all it took for Sherlock’s face to scrunch up and suddenly dissolve into tears. His closed fists went to his eyes, rubbing against them as if trying to stop the tears from flowing, but there was no stopping them. The dam had been broken. His previously silent sobs turned into loud wails, and Joan couldn’t keep her distance anymore. In a second she crawled towards Sherlock, and being mindful of his shoulder injury, placed her hands on his back, bringing him close to her.</p><p>Sherlock’s reaction was immediate. As soon as he was given permission his arms flew around Joan’s frame, his face hiding in her neck and her black hair. She clung to her like a lifeline, with desperation and need, his body pressed against her with the force of a hurricane while he rubbed his face against her neck, wetting her skin.</p><p>“Father m-mean... h-he b-break it...”</p><p>Joan sighed, his reaction was tale-telling in itself. Sherlock had been close to his breaking point a few times in the past couple of hours, but talking about his beloved paci, the thing that had helped him so much and that symbolized all the good that being little provided him, had finally broken the last of his walls entirely.</p><p>“Shhhhh it’s okay Sherlock... we’ll buy another one, okay?” she cooed while cuddling the small child to her chest and rocking him back and forth “a more beautiful one, you’ll see...” </p><p>“NO! I can’t... father s-said... I c-can’t...”</p><p>“Why did he say you can’t?”</p><p>“He angry... embarast” she ignored Sherlock’s little speech in favour of knowing what the argument between him and his father was about “he... hurt me...”</p><p>“Did he... hit you?”</p><p>Sherlock shook his head no, Joan sighed in relief. If Morland had lifted a hand against her charge she was going to raise hell. </p><p>“Did he... made you feel bad for being little?”</p><p>His head nodded and more sobs escaped his lips. She kept rocking him in her arms, but she could feel her blood boil in his veins. How dare he?! Morland had not only hurt Sherlock as a child, he was now trying to sabotage his attempts at having a normal, healthy second childhood as well. It seemed that his whole purpose in this world was to make Sherlock’s life a living nightmare, and it angered and frustrated her just how much Morland was willing to do to hurt his son. Hadn’t he done enough already in over four decades?</p><p>But she wasn’t going to allow it. She tried to breathe calmly, knowing Sherlock was attuned to her body language and didn’t want to scare him, as she gently kissed his forehead. </p><p>“Oh, Sherlock... why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve －”</p><p>“I t-tink you was c-cross and embarast, you h-hated m-me... like father”</p><p>The words came out of his mouth rushed in between sobs, his voice small and utterly miserable. Joan saw he genuinely believed that was what she felt.</p><p>“What...? Sherlock, my god...” her voice was low and full of regret, her heart shattering into a million pieces as she pressed her lips against his forehead “honey, you’ve got it all backwards, I could never hate you...”</p><p>“You angry! Embarast of me little, just like father!” Sherlock exclaimed, his fist coming to hit Joan on her chest, but the punch had no real malice or strength. Instead, she placed her hand atop of his, gently entwining their fingers together as he pressed his hand against her chest, so he could feel her heartbeat on his fingertips. </p><p>She was trying to come up with an easy explanation, something that would prove to Sherlock how much she honestly loved his little side, but words were harder for her than they were for Sherlock. He just had a way with them, even when speaking about his feelings, Joan simply didn’t have. But then, she had an idea.</p><p>“Honey, a few days ago I gave you something. Do you remember what it is?”</p><p>He nodded “a blankie”</p><p>“Yeah, your very own blankie” Joan smiled, letting her fingers brush against one of his cheeks and brush away his tears “and do you know why I bought it for you?”</p><p>Sherlock shook his head, a sad whimper escaping his lips.</p><p>“Because I wanted to buy something for you, something that would make you think of me when I wasn’t there”</p><p>She cupped his face with her hands, pushing him away just enough to be able to look at his dark green eyes as she spoke. He tried to avert his gaze but Joan insisted.</p><p>“Sherlock, I could never be embarrassed by you, I adore my little boy! This has been a rough week for both of us, I saw you unhappy and angry, and all I wanted to do this week was to hold you in my arms... to feel you relax when I rub your hair...” she gave more emphasis to her words by rubbing her hand on Sherlock’s nape and caressing his hair, and smirked when Sherlock’s eyes almost automatically closed with pleasure.</p><p>“But father －”</p><p>“Your father is wrong” she interrupted him “we are not doing this to attack him, we are doing this because you matter”</p><p>Sherlock was so close to her that she perfectly heard his breath hitch at her words as she kept rubbing his hair. She smiled, sadly and knowingly.</p><p>“He never told you, did he?” she asked, and then she slightly bent forward and her lips pressed a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead “well, I will say it every day until you believe it. You matter, Sherlock. Your happiness is important and if being little makes you happy, that’s what we’ll do. Your father be damned” she promised.</p><p>The little boy in her arms squeezed her harder, and she answered by holding him tightly against her, not one part of their bodies away from each other. She closed her eyes and breathed Sherlock’s scent, letting her mind memorize how it felt to hold the child in her arms, the way his body swayed against her, trying to find more contact. His hand grabbed a lapel of her suit jacket with his thumb and index finger, while the middle finger kept moving up and down, caressing the fabric, as if familiarizing itself again with the feeling of touching her clothes.</p><p>“You have no idea how much I missed you...” she whispered against his hair, gathering a full breath in her lungs and letting out a deep sigh. </p><p>“’oanie...” he called with a pitiful voice as he pressed his nose against Joan’s neck, breathing in her scent. </p><p>Joan realized they were both doing the same thing, he was allowing his senses to remember what it felt to be held by her, instead of drawing from memory. The touch of her clothes, the scent of her skin... she just knew Sherlock had been remembering these feelings for the last week, same as she had been doing, and she vowed to never again allow him to be parted from her.</p><p>He moved around a bit and she gave him room until he finally found the position he wanted to be in: straddling Joan and his back slightly bowed, just so he could rest his face against her chest. He took deep breaths, finally calming down, as he listened to her heartbeat. Joan kept him close, rubbing the bottom of his spine as they breathed in and breathed out, together.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi my dears!<br/>Here's another chapter of this story. Sherlock is still battling against his little urges, and Joan does what she can to help him.<br/>As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Keep them coming, I'd like to know what you think!<br/>ENJOY!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After a long while of curling up against each other and drawing strength from their embrace, Joan knew they couldn’t spend the day like that. It was past lunchtime, she didn’t know when Sherlock had eaten for the last time, and from his stale reek, he needed a bath. She decided the latter was the best course of action, to further calm him. They had a lot to discuss, she needed a lot of answers to the dozens of questions fleeting in her mind, but they could come later. They had a long time in their hands, and right now, it was more important to her that Sherlock was completely relaxed and could let go of his inhibitions. Little or not, he needed a break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Disentangling Sherlock from her and careful with his injured shoulder, she took him by his armpits and almost lifted him, passing an arm around his back to steady him when he noticed him hunch involuntarily, probably because of the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together they walked upstairs, and stopping by Sherlock’s bedroom to grab a clean pair of fluffy pyjamas, they continued towards the bathroom. Joan wasn’t going to make the mistake of disappearing from Sherlock’s sight, she remembered how scared he’d been the last time she’d done that and she didn’t want to revisit it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aware that a full bath would not be possible with the bandages on his shoulder, she had an idea. She placed a wooden stool they kept under the sink inside the bathtub and turned on the faucet, leaving the water to fill the tub. Meanwhile, she started to undress Sherlock. She started by the jacket and then the blood-stained shirt, making sure she didn’t pull too harshly so as not to upset his bandages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She then went on to his trousers, socks and underwear. By the time he was naked, the bathtub was filled to the brim with warm water, and she gently took him by the hand and made him sit on the stool. She would’ve thought, after their conversation downstairs, that Sherlock would’ve slipped all the way to infancy by now. But for some reason, he was still fighting. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>little, Joan was sure of it, and she couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was... off. She sighed and shrugged as she took the showerhead and poured some warm water on Sherlock’s legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bath without actually being able to sink your body into the water was no fun at all, and she knew Sherlock was bound to be cold, so she took the towel she used last time and used it to keep his body warm as she scrubbed it with the sponge and later rinsed all the dirt and soap. Sherlock had his eyes closed and his head was hanging low, Joan realized she needed to make haste and shower him and make him eat before he passed out from exhaustion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Sherlock” she whispered when she had poured water on his body, mindful to not let the injured area to be soaked “let’s get out and clean that hair”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock obeyed and got out of the bathtub, allowing Joan to wrap him up in a big, fluffy towel. Then he sat on a chair and Joan pushed him back, placing his head in the washbasin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a particularly comfortable position for either of them, since Sherlock had to strain his neck to put his entire head in the basin while Joan had to stretch his arms to be able to reach to all areas of his hair. However, she tried as much as she could to make it a relaxing experience, giving his scalp a massage with her fingertips, lightly scratching and rubbing against his hair. She then took a cup and poured the water onto his head, rinsing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done, all nice and clean” she announced in a soft voice, as she turned off the water and put a towel on Sherlock’s head to dry his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was sufficiently dry, she took off his towel and started to dress him. Sherlock seemed to be in a trance, his body weighing more than usual because he was putting no resistance, and he made no other indication he was aware of what was happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She helped him stand to put on his underwear and pyjama bottoms, but before putting on his T-shirt Joan made him turn around to make sure the bandages were nice and dry, putting a hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a close call, too close for her comfort. She felt her heart clench at the thought of Sherlock dying in a pool of blood while she held him in her arms... she shook her head, finding it impossible to stop the negative thoughts nagging in her mind. She didn’t want to think about losing Sherlock but she’d been about to lose him today if Sherlock’s reflexes hadn’t been as good as he claimed they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the last week, she had honestly felt she was losing him, slipping further and further away from her reach as he closed himself off. But seeing him being pointed at by a gun, that same gun firing at such a close range, his white shirt stained by his own blood... it made it all the more real, and her terror spiked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Needing the contact and the reassurance that Sherlock really was </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive </span>
  </em>
  <span>and well, her arms slowly went around his frame, her hands resting on his stomach, her chest colliding against his bare, muscular and tattooed back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never again do that to me. Understand?” she warned, and hated that her voice sounded brittle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for the first time in a long while, Sherlock reacted. One of his hands moved and rested on her arm, close to his stomach, and gripped it with strength.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so afraid... I thought I’d lost you” she admitted. She pressed her forehead against Sherlock’s back, not being tall enough to press a kiss to his nape. Then her lips moved out of their own accord, and leaving kisses here and there, started to move towards the bandage. Sherlock’s breath hitched and he grabbed her arm more tightly when her lips kissed the surrounding area around the gauze, to then delicately press against the bandage. Nothing too rough, the area was tender still, but enough for Sherlock to notice and to cause goosebumps on his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I scare you” he apologised and his voice was also thick with emotion. Joan kissed the bandage again, squeezing his stomach once more before letting go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Joan did, feeling a bit more like herself, Sherlock turned around and cooperated in putting the T-shirt on. After that, they both walked downstairs to the kitchen to have some late lunch. Joan would’ve ordered something, but she was starving and it would take her less time to prepare a couple of sandwiches than ordering in and waiting for the food to arrive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ate in silence, Sherlock’s slight little state made obvious only because he made more of a mess than when he was big. Joan smiled when he cleaned up, making sure to also use a wet cloth to clean Sherlock’s mouth and hands full of breadcrumbs and butter. After lunch, he took a concoction of medicine Joan had prepared, all of them non-addictive painkillers that would help him in his recovery. However, since they were not too strong he would need all the rest he could get, and for that, he would have to relax and sleep as much as he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was more relaxed indeed, from the way his shoulders hunched instead of being square and tense, but he hadn’t completely let go. Joan went deep into thought while she observed him, not even knowing how he was holding up so long after several breakdowns in the span of a few hours. But by silently observing him seemed to sense why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock had been avoiding being little for an entire week, fighting against his urges and completely alone. She still didn’t know why he hadn’t confided in her, probably because he was afraid she would side with Morland and he was terrified of what his father might do to him if he allowed himself to be little. Whatever his reason might have been, to maintain a certain level of functionality and work the case he had had to build walls in his mind, walls that could help him keep his feelings of littleness and his desires under restraint. And now that it was done, now that he could let himself go, he probably didn’t even know how to let those walls crumble and let Joan in. They had protected him this past week, they had kept him alive, and so leaving them behind can’t have been very comfortable to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cursed the name of Morland in her mind, being more enraged by the fact that he claimed to want to protect his son. This was what he called protection: causing this state in Sherlock. His words may have been true but the fact remained that he just didn’t know or didn’t care how to be a good father to Sherlock; all he had ever done to the boy was to hurt him again, in the same way he had done when he was a kid. Even worse now, because he had taken from him the only thing that had helped in coping with his feelings and trauma. Morland’s position and actions were inexcusable in her eyes, and when Sherlock had calmed down sufficiently and was back to his normal, adult self, she planned to have a conversation with the man. Sherlock may have been hurt and terrified enough to bow his head and accept his father’s orders, but she wasn’t going to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed deeply and shook her head to clear her mind. There was nothing she could do about Morland now. All she could do was help Sherlock relax and be comfortable enough to rest, regardless of whether he was little. She had the feeling she would have a lot of work to do to ease him into little space again, but she wasn’t going to let him down. Not this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come, honey” she whispered when they had both finished eating “let’s get down for a nap”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“’m not tired” he complained, all the while rubbing at his eyes and stifling a yawn, Joan smiled sweetly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you aren’t” she answered as he took Sherlock by the hand and led him towards the guest bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed was unmade but at least it didn’t stink, she didn’t really feel like walking two flights of stairs to their bedrooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, let me put you a nappy on, okay?” she suggested. She wasn’t sure how he’d take it, so her voice sounded soft and reassuring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because then you can rest and relax, even if you have an accident” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock seemed to be considering it until he finally nodded. She knew he wasn’t convinced by the idea though, probably his father was still in the back of his mind, and as he laid down on the bed she saw the way his jaw was tight and his hands clenched. Before she put his nappy on she knew she had to do something to ease him, so she jumped onto the bed and laid next to him, propping her head on her hand, her elbow placed near Sherlock’s head. Her other hand went towards his short, thin hair, and started to massage his scalp, attempting to bring him comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock you don’t have to be little if you don’t want to,” she said softly with an affectionate smile “I’m suggesting a nappy just in case you have an accident while you sleep, but that doesn’t mean you must be little if you don’t feel like it”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay?” he asked with tired, scared eyes. His voice was small and looked at her with a tight jaw, but she nodded to appease him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I will, darling. Always” she answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded and then Joan jumped off the bed and started to take off his pyjama bottoms so that she could put a clean nappy on. He may still be fighting his instincts that were telling him to let go, but he still was somewhat regressed, she could tell by the way he spoke and looked at her through his half-closed eyelashes. And since she didn’t want him to get too fussy, she made a quick job of putting the nappy on, being gentle but fast at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his bottom was padded and comfortable, she jumped again into bed, smiling when Sherlock instantly grabbed her shirt and snuggled to her while her arm went around his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t changed her clothes, not really planning to fall asleep, but the bed was so comfy and she finally had Sherlock’s warmth next to her, after having missed it for so long. Her eyes closed without her realizing, and soon they were both dozing off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Joan woke up sometime later to the sound of a text on her phone. She grabbed it with only one open eye, and smiled when she read the news: the assault on Sherlock with a gun had been enough to get a warrant, and they had found evidence in Hernan’s house that tied him to the murder of Tom Trevor, along with her own kidnapping. There was no proof of Sherlock’s abduction after so many years, but the Captain assured her that the proof they had found was enough to convict him. He was going to be put away for good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed in relief, at least Sherlock would get closure in that front. They had a lot to discuss and he had along way ahead of him in terms of recovery, but that wouldn’t be holding him back for now. A huge weight was lifted off her shoulders and she couldn’t wait to tell Sherlock the good news. For now, though, her little baby was still sleeping, quietly snoring next to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled and observed him for a few minutes, feeling her heart almost implode with love for the man she shared her life with and whom she had missed so bloody much. But then she decided to make use of the time she had in her hands while Sherlock slept to get some work done. She got up and went upstairs to the study to get her notes and finish them up before they closed the case for good; and went to her room to change into some more informal and comfortable clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she was going downstairs she heard her name along with a loud wail coming from the guest bedroom, and her heart almost stopped. She rushed to the kitchen, left the materials on the table and went to the bedroom. She switched on the light as she got in, and saw Sherlock sitting up on the bed, the heels of his hands rubbing his eyes and his face full of tears. He seemed like a lost child, his eyes open wide in alert and darting around the room trying to find something or someone. Joan had a clear idea of who he was looking for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, honey, what’s wrong?” she asked in her most reassuring, soft voice. Sherlock didn’t answer, instead reaching with his arms as soon as she noticed Joan coming into the room. She rushed and climbed to the bed, opening her arms and allowing Sherlock to find refuge against her, sobbing sadly and shaking his head no as he cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say... no leave...” he whimpered as he pressed his face against her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan exhaled in relief. It had taken him hours of battling but finally, his little urges had won the battle and he was, in all respects, in his little space. And quite understandably, he’d been scared and confused when he’d woken up alone in his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She guessed that Sherlock had been bottling up all his feelings and needs inside him, trying to push them to the back of his mind, and now they were exploding with no way of controlling them. The best thing she could do was just to accompany him and make him feel he wasn’t alone, not even trying to make stop his sobbing. She held him tight against her, gently swaying him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock...” she whispered a while later, feeling sorry her little boy was having such a hard time “I’m sorry I scared you. But I promise I’ll stay here with you, I won’t leave...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, her words didn’t have the effect intended, quite the contrary. The sobs that had seemed to subside returned, and when Joan tried to make him look at her, he refused and pressed his face even more against her chest, hiding in the creases of her clothes. She abandoned the idea and resumed simply shushing next to his ear as she rubbed his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhhhh...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I was b-bad...!” Sherlock exclaimed in between sobs, his voice quivering and muffled by her shirt “I’m ‘orry I hurt you” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright honey” Joan answered, thinking he was talking about putting himself in arm’s way with Hernan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I... I wanted... I w-wanted you go” he sniffled, clinging more to her “I wanted... to use”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His confession fell like a huge weight and Joan’s body went tense as a ramrod, as the words created a deafening silence in the room. Even when being little, Sherlock had a good grasp of what </span>
  <em>
    <span>using</span>
  </em>
  <span> meant, as well as Joan. She felt an awful sinking in the pit of her stomach and a huge fear made her shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you want to use... drugs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his confession, the sobs had stopped. Only silent tears kept flowing freely down his cheeks, he wasn’t even fighting to stop them, but his lips were pressed into a thin line, not allowing more sobs to come out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan thought she knew why. She knew him as the palm of her hand, she was familiar with the inner workings of Sherlock’s mind. Therefore, she recognized in Sherlock’s lost gaze and silent tears what he was thinking and how much self-loathing and guilt he was now feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Sherlock...” she breathed as she held the boy even closer to her. She felt her stomach churn uncomfortably and a sinking pit settling in as she realized that Gregson had been right. She was scared to think just how close Sherlock had been to relapsing and if he had, she wouldn’t have forgiven herself for being the thing that pushed him over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I hurt you, you mad and leave...” his voice broke as he explained “and I use...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never” she promised, pulling him away just enough to kiss his cheeks and forehead repeatedly, infusing warmth with her words “I will never leave you, Sherlock. I’ll get mad and scold you if you hurt me. But I’ll never leave you”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I bad...” he whispered apologetically, looking down at his lap. Joan gave him a soft smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not bad, darling. You’re a very good boy” she said. She knew that, deep down, Sherlock always sought her approval and praise could go a long way with him “you just did some bad things”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mad?” he asked cautiously, his eyes daring to lock with hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Joan looked into Sherlock’s eyes she felt her breath suddenly disappear from her lungs. They were red-rimmed and full of tears, but the vulnerability and openness from the first time Sherlock had been little had returned. She was looking at her slightly fearful, but the need to know if he had gone too far this time, if she really was going to leave, was more powerful than his fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not mad” she answered with a soft smile. Inside, she felt guilty for being so self-centred in what she felt that she didn’t pay attention to how dangerously close to the abyss he was. But she wasn’t going to share that with him “but I want you to promise me that if you feel you want to... use again. Instead of pushing me away, I want you to tell me. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy nodded repeatedly, his expression a promise he intended to keep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you will have to apologize to Marcus and the Captain. They didn’t deserve that treatment and they worry about you too” Joan added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock nodded again before he resumed his position against her chest. He breathed in and out repeatedly, using her heartbeat to calm his own racing heart and feeling her warmth. Joan held him tight, gently rocking him and letting him find comfort and solace in their closeness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her head was spinning, though. She felt awful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She, who prided herself in having intimate knowledge of Sherlock, had never seen just how close he had been to tripping and falling. And what’s worse, Sherlock had pushed her away on purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the haze of his internal battle, he didn’t want Joan to see him fall into the hands of heroin again, and she felt even worse to think that Sherlock had wished she abandoned him, proving him right, and so he would be free to use drugs again. Terror spread through her body as she imagined Sherlock in a darkened alley, injecting a syringe in his arm and looking for oblivion, possibly his own death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now his recklessness made complete sense. Why would he wait until Hernan was in custody when he could talk to him, face to face, in the park? Why would he care if Hernan pulled the trigger and wounded him fatally, if he was ready to use heroin until he found the sweet spot, possibly running into his untimely death in the process? His complete disregard for his safety and oblivion to what it meant for him to die, what it would do to others, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Joan</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was scary. Morland’s visit had done one more damage, as he had made Sherlock think he was important to nobody, and no one would care if he simply isolated himself from others and disappeared into the void.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed, pulling Sherlock impossibly close to her. The past hours were showing her just how close she had been to losing him in more ways than one, and she was alarmed at how fast the situation had turned south. She would have to insist, in all the ways humanly possible, to convince Sherlock of his own worth and her love for him. For now, they found comfort in each other’s arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After their discussion, Joan thought Sherlock would finally be calmer and actually enjoy his little space, perhaps cuddling, playing or watching some TV. It wasn’t surprising at all that, by the time they had discussed things, Sherlock had dropped even lower into littlespace and wasn’t talking any longer; he needed to relax and get away from everything that had happened this last week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she didn’t expect was that he would turn into a wailing, cranky and unhappy infant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing Joan did seemed to be settling him down, Joan resorted to take him to her bedroom and take with them one of the TVs from the media room, in the hopes he would find some of the cartoons entertaining. But all he wanted was to be held by her and as soon as he was left on the floor of the media room, or the bed later in Joan’s bedroom, he would bawl his eyes out, his wails growing louder and more desperate every time she tried to put him down for a nap. But even when Joan relented and held him against her chest, sitting him down on her lap and rocking him, sad whimpers came out of his lips time to time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around mid-afternoon, she padded her nappy and noticed it was wet, and a new battle ensued. Sherlock had great lungs and he didn’t hesitate to use them as soon as he felt his body being laid down on the bed. He didn’t even move or fight, he just laid there as he screamed, his hands grabbing Joan’s clothes with desperation and need and pulling so that she wouldn’t move away from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, honey... I know, I know, you don’t like it...” she assuaged him, leaning down and placing soft kisses on Sherlock’s face as he cried “shhhh it’s okay, Joanie’s here...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nuzzled his nose and kissed his temple and cheeks, repeating again and again that she was with him and wasn’t leaving. Finally, she managed to get Sherlock to release his grip long enough to change him, and she tried cooing and talking to him in hushed tones while she did it, but Sherlock wasn’t agreeable to anything Joan did or said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just wished they had the pacifier with them, she knew it would work wonders in soothing him, but there was no paci so she encouraged Sherlock to use his thumb. He looked at her confused, no wonder since Joan had been telling him not to use it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay honey,” she told him as she gently nudged his elbow in the direction of his mouth “while we don’t have a pacifier, you can use your thumb”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock did, his lips closing around his digit and sucking tentatively as if he’d forgotten what it felt like to do so. His eyes closed, his sobs remitting considerably, but still, he was tense, she could tell. She placed a hand on his tummy and started to gently apply some pressure, reassuring him of her presence while attempting to reduce his tension and stress so that he could sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, she had an idea. She got up and made a beeline for the bathroom, running to grab a bottle of body oil she’d bought ages ago for one of her “me” nights. She went back to her room just in time to avoid Sherlock getting worked up again, scared of her absence when she wasn’t in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh I’m back, I’m here...” she soothed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With slow and gentle motions she took off his T-shirt and socks, leaving him only in his nappy. Then she opened up the bottle and poured a generous amount in her hand, spreading it along her fingers to then place her hands on Sherlock’s chest. She started by applying slight pressure on the skin, smiling when his chest hairs felt tingly under her fingertips. Her fingers expertly moved from his chest to his left shoulder, the uninjured one, and applied pressure as she outlined the lines of his dragon tattoo. She didn’t have much space since he was using the uninjured arm to put his thumb in his mouth, but it seemed to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s cries had completely subsided but he was fighting sleep, he seemed he didn’t want to close her eyes just in case Joan disappeared again from his sight. He needed to sleep, the emotional and physical stress should’ve left him exhausted, but he instead he was fussy and cranky. So, Joan decided to go even beyond.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While her fingers roamed around his torso, a lullaby came to mind. She had been a huge fan of Mary Poppins as a kid, probably not as geek as her brother Oren with videogames and comic books but she had watched the movie tons of times, it was probably one of the first she had learnt by heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost unconsciously she started to hum a melody she knew well and continued when she noticed Sherlock looking at her, transfixed by her voice and words.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay awake, don’t rest your head</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t lie down upon your bed</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hands expertly darted from his torso to his right arm, avoiding the injured shoulder but still applying some degree of pressure to the arm, to then continue her descent towards his torso. Her fingers massaged his chest and then went lower towards his stomach, following the movements she had learnt more than fifteen years ago in med school. One of the lessons she had enjoyed the most was how to give massages to colicky babies, as that helped them enormously in relieving pain and could relax, and she was applying her knowledge with her overgrown kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>While the moon drifts in the skies</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay awake don’t close your eyes</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Very slowly, her fingers continued their descent. She ignored his nappy and went towards his legs, starting with his right leg and applying pressure to the thigh, feeling surprised for the first time of just how hairy Sherlock really was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice was soft, not louder than a whisper, but Sherlock kept watching her in silence. His whimpers and hiccups had long gone, and instead, he was watching her with awe and a twinkle of fascination in his eyes. His mouth was slightly open, he wasn’t even sucking on his thumb anymore, enraptured by her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Though the world is fast asleep</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Though your pillow’s soft and deep</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Joan’s hands arrived at his feet, he massaged the sole and the toes, expertly applying pressure just where she knew he needed it. When her thumb pressed against the middle of the sole she heard him groan in pleasure and when she looked at him, he had his eyes closed and seemed completely abandoned and relaxed. She smirked, the massage was working.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not sleepy as you seem</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay awake, don’t nod and dream</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Very slowly, without rushing it, she moved to his other leg, this time starting by his foot and finishing on his thigh until she moved back again to his stomach. She did a bit more massage there, and when she looked at him he was breathing slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay awake, don’t nod and dream</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sleeping, the cadence of his breaths wasn’t deep or regular enough to be asleep, but at least he was much calmer than he had been in days. She smirked, Mary Poppins’ lullaby had always a great effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moved slowly to sit with her back against the bedpost when she saw something brown and grey on top of some other clothes. It was his blankie, the one she had bought a few days back and he had refused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled, maybe this time it would work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached with her hand to grab the piece of clothing and taking a second to admire the soft texture, she placed against Sherlock’s face gently to call his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look what I’ve got, Sherlock” she whispered in a reassuring voice, not wanting to disturb his peace and calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock turned his head around to look at her, and she held the blankie in her hands. When Sherlock tried to extend his injured arm to grab it she just nudged it against his face, and Sherlock immediately nuzzled he fabric with his nose, smelling it. Since he hadn’t used it the first time she’d offered it, she had the foresight of putting it in the washer, and now it smelled fabric softener of their clothes. It smelled like home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His still red-rimmed and humid eyes were still watching her and refusing to close entirely, but it looked like her singing and the blankie had worked because. Joan only smiled and laid down next to him, putting the blanket around his shoulders and head to create a sort of cocoon whilst he still had plenty of blanket to nuzzle and grab between his fingers. Then she placed her arm around his stomach, a comforting weight she knew he appreciated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, the doorbell rang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan sighed, annoyed, as she felt Sherlock’s body against her tensing up slightly. He was looking at her, still unmoving but unquestionably scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to see who’s at the door” Joan explained, trying to be as clear as possible so Sherlock wouldn’t get too scared “I’ll come as soon as I can. You stay here with your blankie and relax, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan stood up and stretched her back, feeling her muscles ache because of the position she’d been in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’yde”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock’s small, unsure voice had returned. And he was asking for something surprising. Joan turned around mid-stretch, her eyes wide open, and looked at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that, honey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’yde” Sherlock repeated, his thumb firmly in his mouth while the index finger of his other hand pointed at the toy chest she had moved from the media room to her bedroom when working the case to make more space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want Clyde Jr. with you?” she asked. He was referring, of course, to the plush toy he had bought the first time he’d gone little-shopping online. Joan knew he couldn’t have resisted even if he wanted, the tortoise looked exactly like their alive tortoise pet, currently hibernating in the fridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the first time in a long while that Sherlock wanted any toys, even if it was for comfort and not so much to play with, so when Sherlock nodded she quickly opened the toy chest and took the plush toy out. She handed it to him and swooned internally as Sherlock grabbed at it with his hands and took it to his face, hugging the toy tightly to his body. Even if he was sad and terribly clingy, she couldn’t deny the little boy was so adorable that he had her wrapped around his finger. Joan smiled and let him lay completely on the bed, covering both him and Clyde with his new blankie and kissing his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be back in no time. Clyde and your blankie will take care of you while I’m gone” she whispered before getting up and walking downstairs towards the front door. The doorbell rang once more and Joan huffed, annoyed that they couldn’t even get a day to themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she opened the door, however, she was surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus!” she exclaimed when the Detective smiled in greeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he said. He had a box of considerable size in his hands and Joan let him in without questioning “how are you guys doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well... not great, actually” Joan answered honestly. She took the opportunity to undo her ponytail and put it up again, making sure the strands of hair that had been bothering her were inside the hair tie “Sherlock slept for a bit but he’s been cranky and fussy all day, couldn’t calm him until a minute ago. I guess it was too much stress and needs to get it off his chest somehow...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmm I never imagined it would be so difficult,” Marcus said as if thinking out loud, as he let the box on the floor and opened it “luckily, I’ve brought some things that might help”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan was speechless when Marcus started to empty the contents of the box: a couple of funny-looking T-shirts, some car toys and trucks (including a police car she knew Sherlock would love), a rattle, a teething toy... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know what he would like, so I bought a bit of everything. No nappies or stuff like that, I’m assuming you got that covered” he said that in a bit of a rush, as if embarrassed he had done maybe too much. Joan was rendered silent and forced herself to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, Marcus, this... thank you. You didn’t need to buy any of it” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but... I’ve never seen him so worked up. And I want to help” Marcus answered, blushing a bit on his cheeks “I even bought him this, although I guess you already have a couple...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Joan saw the light. In Marcus’ hand there were no toys or bottles, but a brand new pacifier. This one didn’t have any bees painted on it, but the colours were still black and yellow along with a tiny bit of white, so the dummy looked exactly like a bee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, Marcus... this can be a real lifesaver” she exclaimed as she took the pacifier in her hand and quickly broke the wrapping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, why? I thought you already had one of these...” he said, surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan stopped for a moment, wondering whether to tell him or not. She assumed she could, at the end of the day Sherlock trusted Marcus and he’d seen him in his little state, albeit it wasn’t as little as he was now. And he was trying to be open-minded and help with what Sherlock was going through, he at least deserved the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock told me what had happened with his father. It turns out he found out about what he was doing and forbid him from doing it again” Joan explained “he destroyed the pacifier...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus gasped. It was cruel to do something like that to anyone but to do it to your own son, who was only trying to work through his trauma and just get better... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s awful... poor Sherlock”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to give it to him? He’s in my room, not sleeping but at least calm enough” Joan told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus seemed to hesitate but Joan saw his eyes, he did want to be part of little Sherlock’s life. So, together they walked up the stairs and went into her bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan made Marcus stop as she opened the door slightly, trying to see Sherlock’s mood. He seemed transfixed by what Joan had put on TV, but his eyes were sad and vacant, he probably was seeing the images without really watching them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi honey, I’m back,” Joan said as a greeting, walking up towards Sherlock. The boy smiled slightly in greeting. She smiled in relief when he took out one of his hands from the cocoon of his blanket to grab Joan’s, pulling her towards the bed with him, but not a trace of tears on his face “oh, I missed you too, darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus waited outside the room diligently as Joan smothered Sherlock’s face with kisses and reassuring words, silently happy that Sherlock enjoyed her attentions so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock, look who’s come to visit you,” said Joan with a smile after a few minutes of cuddles and kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey buddy” Marcus whispered as he opened the door and came into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock looked at the man, recognizing in him a friend. He wasn’t scared and Joan sighed in relief, in his little state he still was capable of distinguishing his circle of friends and family. He didn’t say anything, but he pulled the blankie a bit further down, letting them see more of his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought you something” he kept his voice soft and low, trying to be as nice and non-threatening as possible “do you want to see what it is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy stayed quiet and looked at Joan, probably looking for reassurance. Joan smiled and nodded encouragingly, and Sherlock looked at Marcus again, nodding his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, as Marcus approached the boy and knelt next to the bed, he saw the pacifier in his hand. His eyes opened wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” his voice was small and unsure, it seemed to Joan he didn’t really believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s for you, bud” he smiled as he handed it to him “look, it looks like one of your bees!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock looked at him and the pacifier, and timidly took it in his hand. He quickly placed in his mouth and started to suck with urgency, so strongly that the room filled with sounds of </span>
  <em>
    <span>tsk tsk</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He seemed to relax instantly, his eyes closing softly as he breathed in and out, his body very obviously uncurling against the mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“’ank you” came the small voice, like a whisper. Marcus placed his hand on top of his head and smoothed his hair in soft motions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, my friend” he answered in an equally whispered voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan had been observing their exchange from only a couple of feet away, ready to jump in if Sherlock reacted badly. For now, though, it seemed that everything was well. She sank on her knees at the other side of the bed, placing a hand on Sherlock’s tummy for reassurance as the boy relaxed further into his cocoon, protected by both adults and Clyde Jr, his mouth never stopping the sucking motion. Soon his breathing evened out and to Joan’s relief, he was out to the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joan signalled to Marcus with her head and together, very slowly and silently as to not wake him up, they got out of her bedroom and walked downstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marcus, you really saved him today. I don’t think he would’ve fallen asleep so easily without you” Joan said when they were out of Sherlock’s earshot “thank you”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I could help” he answered “and now I understand why you’re so protective of him. He really is just a scared child, even before this age regression thing”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is” Joan sighed “and I think he has gone through enough on his own”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Sherlock slept Joan offered some tea to Marcus, but they decided to have it in the library. It was comfortable enough and it was close to the floor Sherlock was in, Joan didn’t want to risk it if Sherlock started crying again and she wasn’t in earshot of his cries. She thought, fleetingly, she would have to buy a baby monitor or pay for a phone app to keep an eye on him while he slept and she was in another part of the house, just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Marcus left an hour later Joan went to wake Sherlock up, and by the time she did, he was a much happier child. Joan smiled with pride and relief, seeing that finally, Sherlock could be the child he needed to be, no restraints or judgement. And she laughed with his antics, and he laughed as she tickled him, and they both smiled when they fell to the bed, panting and puffing and with a sparkle in their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world wasn’t perfect, not by any means, and the road to recovery would be a long and winding one. She, for one, had a pending conversation with her boy’s father. But while she stared at Sherlock’s glistening eyes and smiley face, and while the boy sighed contently when he timidly placed his head against her chest and she hugged him tighter, letting him listen to her heartbeat; Joan thought that, perhaps, their world was started to look exactly like the perfect one for them. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello dear readers!<br/>Well, here it is. The final instalment of this Elementary fic!<br/>I wanted to thank each and every one of you who have read, kudo'ed, bookmarked and commented this fic. The ones who've talked to me and the silent ones, I hope you enjoyed it too!<br/>And finally, I have to thank Gaby @MusicalProstituteMyDear, who has listened to me rant about this fic and given me advice and ideas every step of the way. THANK YOU DARLING!</p><p>One last thing. The plot of this story demanded that it finished, but I must say I still feel an itch to write about little Sherlock. Therefore, I will put this fic as the first part of a series. That way, if I ever write something else about little Sherlock, it will be included in it!</p><p>That's all. THANKS AND ENJOY!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following morning Joan woke up to the sound of violin playing. She didn’t recognize the song, it must’ve been one of Sherlock’s own compositions. It was slow and it was played at a peaceful and calm cadence, she slowly became aware of her surroundings as her mind was lulled by the beautiful music. She lazily opened her eyes and instantly smiled, knowing that when he was finished he would come to wake her up, but for now, she stretched in her bed like a cat and looked at the ceiling. </p><p>She had had the first restful sleep in quite a while. The previous week or so had been a nightmare both for her and for Sherlock, and her nights had been marked for tossing and turning in bed, only falling asleep in the wee hours of the morning when exhaustion overtook her. Sherlock, as far as she could tell, had been living a similar nightmare, with the added fact that he knew it was all his doing and he felt guilty for it. </p><p>Joan sighed and ran her hand through her hair, scattering it around the pillow and tousling it even more than it was. She was concerned about the possible consequences the events of this week might have on Sherlock and his little side. Would he be willing to regress now, or would he fight it? Would Sherlock still be comfortable around her and want her as his caregiver? Lots of questions ran through her head, and she sighed, not knowing the answer to any of them. She guessed she would have to give him time to put his thoughts and feelings in order, he always took some time to process things before he confided in her. She wasn’t worried, she was aware that was how he operated and was willing to give him space and time he needed, as long as he finally turned to her when he was ready.</p><p>Her thoughts were interrupted when suddenly the music stopped and not long afterwards, the door of her bedroom opened. </p><p>“Morning, Watson” came his happy high-pitched voice from the ajar door. Joan turned her head to look at him and smile, he was already dressed in his usual attire but no shoes, his socks bright red and green. Her smile grew wider as she scoffed, he had a particular love for eccentric, colourful socks.</p><p>“Good morning” she answered, already sitting up on the bed and resting her back against the bedpost while Sherlock went into the room, violin in one hand and bow in the other “what a great way to wake me up, Sherlock, that song was beautiful”</p><p>“Well, you know rousing you is a rather lovely pastime of mine” he answered with fondness and a sweet smile, even as she noticed his neck and ears turning a slight shade of red in embarrassment “kettle’s just boiled and breakfast is ready downstairs. Will you come?”</p><p>“Of course. Give me five” she answered, already moving the blankets and sheets and getting out of bed.</p><p>Sherlock nodded and gave her a smile before retreating, letting her time to put her red cardigan on and go to the bathroom first.</p><p>When she got to the kitchen, she was momentarily surprised. Sherlock’s breakfasts were usually elaborate and included a bit of everything, but this was like something out of a hotel: coffee, tea, fruit, sausages, scrambled eggs, bacon... everything she might fancy was on the table, hot and ready to be eaten. </p><p>“Sherlock... wow, this is amazing” she commented while looking at all the food with wide eyes, hearing her stomach rumble. She could see his nervous expression and twitching of his lips out of the corner of her eyes “what’s this for?”</p><p>“Nothing” he answered trying to sound nonchalant, but the bouncing on his feet betrayed him “I just... wanted to thank you. For everything”</p><p>He said nothing else but he didn’t need to. Joan looked at him, his warm but nervous gaze, the way he bounced on his feet and his arms wobbled at his side... he wanted to do something nice for her, and was anxious about her response.</p><p>Joan smiled widely, and she closed the space between them in two strides to quickly peck his cheek. He looked surprised, but soon his eyes softened and he smiled shyly. </p><p>“It’s amazing, thank you” she whispered, her smile not disappearing “but I expect you to eat it with me”</p><p>“With pleasure, Watson” he answered as he pulled a chair out so Joan could sit.</p><p>She did, surprised and humbled by his sudden gentlemanliness, and he sat on the chair next to her, again foregoing the previous distance they had had for years. </p><p>Joan suddenly felt all warm and fuzzy inside and grazed her knee with Sherlock’s while he served coffee for her and tea for himself, openly smiling at how happy this change in their physical relationship made her feel. For years she had been very aware of Sherlock’s discomfort at open displays of affection, and she tried to keep them to gentle grazes or squeezes, rarely going beyond that. He was a sexual animal, she’d seen his long string of sexual “paramours” as he called them on several occasions, but there was a clear distinction between sex and casual affection. She knew to keep the latter at a minimum.</p><p>Now, as she took a couple of plates and served food for him and herself, feeling Sherlock’s warmth next to her and his knee gently grazing against hers, she could do nothing but smile comfortably, knowing he also wanted and looked for those attentions. Being little had changed things between them, there was no doubt about it, and it had made Sherlock much more open and comfortable with their physicality. Joan was still surprised when he was the one initiating contact as his adult self, and she found endearing the way he always moved slowly and methodically, as if he was calculating the odds of her retreating. But that never happened, and Sherlock was slowly showing more signs of wanting to be close to her, not afraid to ask for it.</p><p>They started to eat and a conversation ensued easily, talking around their full mouths as their legs never stopped their brushing.</p><p>“By the way, I have news,” Joan said a while later. Breakfast had been eaten and now she was savouring her coffee “the Captain sent a text yesterday. Hernan was caught. He’s going away for good”</p><p>Sherlock sat back and took his cup of tea with him, he grew silent and his expression turned pensive. He didn’t seem troubled, though, he seemed... relieved.</p><p>“Forever?”</p><p>“There’s a good chance” Watson replied with confidence “you won’t have to worry about him anymore, Sherlock. It’s over.”</p><p>Sherlock turned his head to his right, where Joan was sitting, his eyebrow raised as if looking for confirmation. Joan nodded and smiled, her expression soft.</p><p>“It’s over” Sherlock repeated her words with relief, and for the first time, Joan could almost physically see how a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. His previously pressed lips grew into a grin so wide that he was showing his teeth, and Joan loved it. He was more than happy, he was ecstatic! </p><p>“Yes, it’s over” she repeated with a smile of her own, placing a hand on his arm. He turned to look at her, he didn’t do any movement to respond to Joan’s gesture but he didn’t need to. His loving, blissful eyes told her everything she needed.</p><p>She took another sip of her coffee, trying to hide her openly wide smile but finding it impossible. After so much suffering Sherlock had had to endure and after so much pain and tears this past week, seeing him happy and relieved was a treat for Joan.</p><p>However, she couldn’t forget what had transpired the day before. Despite being alleviated about Hernan’s news, she couldn’t forget that Sherlock had been very close to relapsing. Only her stubbornness to not leave him, even when he was pushing her away, had prevented him from getting his hands on heroin or god knows what. </p><p>Her thoughts took her back to years ago, back when she was going to therapy with Dr Creed and she was Sherlock’s sober companion. They discussed his cases and, upon learning that Joan had lied to Sherlock about Morland renewing her contract, she told her that perhaps staying with him was a mistake. Perhaps her prolonged stay beyond her contract was becoming an enabler, and the moment he found out she’d lied to him he would spiral downward. She warned her that perhaps her eventual absence would become a cause for his relapse.</p><p>That had been years ago, way before Joan became Sherlock’s partner and equal, and long before their friendship flourished. Now, however, Joan was frightened to discover that her therapist was right: her presence had been the only thing between him and the drugs. If she had given up on him things would’ve turned out for the worse, and she couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t be the thing that decided Sherlock’s fate in regards to his sobriety, he had to take that power back and own it.</p><p>“Listen, Sherlock. Have you talked to Alfredo lately?” she said in a light voice.</p><p>“No, I haven’t. I’ve been... preoccupied” Sherlock answered, looking at her through narrowed eyes “why?”</p><p>“Well, this week has been hard for you. I know you would’ve regretted if you relapsed, but the fact is that you <em>wanted </em>to use again. That hasn’t happened in a long time, and I think you should go to a meeting”</p><p>“I... I’m not sure that’s what I need” Sherlock answered, his voice deep “it’s true that I wanted to use, but I didn’t”</p><p>“I know you didn’t, and I’m glad you were strong enough this time” Joan insisted, her voice soft but concerned “but if I hadn’t been here you would’ve used. That’s something you need to come to terms with” Sherlock was looking at an unspecific point on the windows before them. Joan sighed “I’m not your sober companion anymore, you know I can’t force you to do anything. But I’m worried, what if I hadn’t been there all along? What if I had been running errand and you thought I’d left?”</p><p>Sherlock was rendered silent but he was deep in thought, Joan knew because of his set expression. She reached with one hand and placed it on his forearm, Sherlock was surprised at the unexpected touch but it was welcome, she could see his almost imperceptible twitch of his pressed lips.</p><p>“I just... you know I trust the program and I’m fully committed to it” Joan nodded, she didn’t need to be told as much, she’d been witness to Sherlock’s change of attitude towards the program “but I don’t feel... comfortable talking to them about this. Not yet...”</p><p>Joan sensed there was more coming so she stayed silent.</p><p>“I know what I did was unforgivable” he whispered “I pushed you away because I didn’t want you to see how much of a failure I really am. And now that it’s over... I fear you’ll heed my words and disappear when I －”</p><p>“Hey” she interrupted. Her hand went to his cheek, cupping it gently as well as forcing him to look at her in the eyes “Sherlock, I’m not going anywhere, no matter how many times you push me away. The only way for me to leave is if I’m convinced you’ll be happier without me”</p><p>Sherlock looked at her and blinked as if to dispel unshed tears.</p><p>“That will never happen, my dear Watson” he whispered, and Joan was taken aback by how much emotion slipped through those words.</p><p>When he was little he was capable of speaking about his undying love for her but when he was big, he used other, often more subtle words to tell her how deeply he cared for her. He’d never called her <em>dear, </em>and it was still both shocking and pleasant when she heard it from his mouth. She smiled a bit shyly, embarrassed at his candour, and Sherlock half-returned the smile.</p><p>“You are not a failure, and you’ve proven that many times” she whispered encouragingly “but you need to come to terms with what happened, make sense of it, and talking might help. If you don’t want to talk in a meeting, then at least call Alfredo. Go and see him. Even if he isn’t your sponsor, he’s still your friend.”</p><p>Then she leaned over to plant a sweet, slow kiss on his cheek. She lingered there, her lips brushing against his rough, stubbly cheek.</p><p>“And you don’t have to worry about me leaving. With whom else would I get such a great breakfast?”</p><p>She tried to lighten the mood and it worked, Sherlock snorted slightly at her comment. Then he sighed, his long fingers grabbing the hand that was still on his cheek. He slowly tilted his head to one side and kissed Joan’s wrist, atop her pulse point, and rested his lips there for a while, as if making sure she was alive and well, feeling her heartbeat pulsating through. Joan sucked a breath, touched by his gesture, and kept silent while Sherlock turned her hand over and kissed her knuckles delicately and repeatedly, his kisses so soft and gentle his lips barely grazed the skin.</p><p>“Alright, I’ll call him” he relented finally, and then he looked up at her with a soft smile, his large hand still holding hers.</p><p>Joan nodded, satisfied.</p><p>“Where are you going to be? The precinct?”</p><p>“No, not today” she answered, finishing her coffee. She didn’t want to break the calm, comfortable spell in the atmosphere but she had to get going “I have some errands to run”</p><p>She didn’t say what errands she was going to be running and Sherlock didn’t ask, respecting her privacy. All the better, she thought, she wasn’t sure she wanted to tell him what she was going to do before the fact. She just needed to set the record straight with a certain man who seemed to have taken as a personal mission to hurt his son at every turn.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After breakfast Sherlock and Joan went their separate ways, Sherlock having called Alfredo to visit him at his house, and she to Morland’s office. When she got there she demanded to get in, despite his secretary’s protestations that she didn’t have an appointment.</p><p>“Tell him Joan Watson is here to see him” she said in what Sherlock had named her “doctor” voice, which was stern and firm. </p><p>The secretary did so, and a few seconds later she was surprised to be asked to usher Joan towards Morland’s office.</p><p>“Ah Joan, what a lovely surprise” said Morland when Joan got in and the secretary closed the glass door behind her.</p><p>Joan didn’t greet him, she walked straight to his desk and tossed, rather violently, her handbag onto one of the chairs. The businessman looked at her through narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, she could tell he was trying to deduce what she was going to do or say from her stance and body language. Joan knew her body language was saying enough of her intentions but she also knew that, even though Morland’s skills of deduction were better than most, they didn’t beat his son’s.</p><p>“I won’t be long” Joan said with a warning tone “I just wanted to ask you why.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Don’t play games with me. Yes, why. Why did you force Sherlock to ditch the only thing that was keeping him balanced, why did you make him feel like such a failure for trying to get better?”</p><p>Morland sighed, then stood from the chair and took a couple of steps, giving Joan his back and looking through the window behind the desk. His hands were clasped behind his back, his straight and tense shoulders the only hint that he was uncomfortable. </p><p>“Do not speak of what you do not understand, Joan. Sherlock is only a spoiled child, always has been” Morland’s voice came. It was deep and it held a tone of controlled anger that set Joan’s teeth on edge “and now what? He wants to be a baby again to do what? To prove, beyond his words, that I was a bad father? He’s just doing this to spite me, to －”</p><p>“If you believe that you’re more an idiot than Sherlock gives you credit for”</p><p>Morland turned around in a swift movement, surprised by Joan’s harsh tone and words. But she didn’t back down. She felt her blood boil at his words and she breathed through her nose, trying to keep a calm exterior.</p><p>“You tell me to not speak about what I don’t understand, but it’s you who doesn’t get it” Joan seethed through gritted teeth “you hurt Sherlock in every possible way you can hurt a child. YOUR son, Morland. Blood of your blood” she crossed her arms in front of her in a stern position “tell me, how long has it been since you’ve seen him cry?”</p><p>Morland seemed stunned by the question, his eyes blinking in rapid succession. He didn’t even register that Joan wasn’t calling him Mr Holmes anymore.</p><p>“It must’ve been... decades” he managed to croak, avoiding Joan’s gaze “probably when his mother... passed”</p><p>“And have you seen him look for comfort from another person, besides his mother?”</p><p>Joan knew she was pressing all the right buttons as Morland gulped and she saw the quickening of his pulse on his throat, his carotid artery bulging visibly under the skin. His gaze was averted, no longer looking at her but an unspecified point on the wall behind her.</p><p>“No, I have not.”</p><p>Joan sighed. She wasn’t about to disclose Sherlock’s behaviour when he was little, that was only between her and him, but she needed Morland to be affected by the situation he’d put his son in.</p><p>“Then you should be relieved to know that now he does. And he’s not the spoiled child you want to believe he is” Joan answered “do you know all he asks of me? That I do not abandon him”</p><p>She let her words break Morland’s defences by pausing for a few seconds. She didn’t even know how she still was in control of herself, seeing Sherlock’s father in front of her, knowing he was the reason for Sherlock’s pain, was awakening instincts she didn’t even realize she had.</p><p>“He’s afraid I’ll do what you did, what everyone else did. You took his mother away from him and sent him off to boarding school, making him feel like he was a burden. When his mother died you pushed him away, and he was only a boy Morland. A child” Joan stopped for a second to catch a breath and continued “and you think he’s doing this to spite you? He’s doing this to <em>survive.”</em></p><p>She knew her words were having the intended effect. Morland Holmes didn’t cower, Morland Holmes didn’t back down in front of anyone, especially not a <em>woman. </em>However, if anyone had heard their conversation they would’ve seen that in this instance it was simply not true. His previously straight and tense shoulders were now hunched down, looking at Joan but not directly at her face, taking her words as physical blows to his stomach.</p><p>“It’s over, Morland. I won’t let you come close to Sherlock again”</p><p>Those words seemed to make him react. His eyes went directly to Joan’s, one raised eyebrow in question and surprise.</p><p>“I beg your pardon?”</p><p>But Joan wasn’t relenting.</p><p>“I told you once before that I wouldn’t let you hurt Sherlock. You did, and that’s something I’m not willing to forgive nor forget” she warned him, her finger pointing at him “you will not go to him again. You will not call him, you will not come by the Brownstone, and you definitely will not cause him more pain”</p><p>“Is that a threat, Joan? I never thought you capable of that” Morland said in false mockery.</p><p>“You don’t want to know what I’m capable of for the people I love” </p><p>Despite his mockery, Joan’s words fell heavy in the room, rendering him virtually silent. He looked at her eyes, ablaze with rage and passion, and gulped. He’d mocked Sherlock before for his feelings for Joan and had warned him he would end up hurting her. But what Morland hadn’t counted on was Joan actually reciprocating his feelings, and now he was made aware that they <em>were </em>reciprocated and taken very seriously.</p><p>The tone of her words had brought forward a sense of finality. She sighed, still with anger and adrenaline coursing through her body, and she forced herself to breathe deeply a couple of times to regain some of the control that had slipped. She had, after all, threatened one of the most powerful men on the planet, and that was no easy feat.</p><p>However, Morland seemed to be taking Joan’s words very seriously. He sighed and walked towards his desk, his body falling onto the chair. His fingertips tapped together as in prayer while he placed his hands under his chin in a pensive mode, his eyes half-closed, his forehead creased with worry. He seemed decades older than he was and Joan squinted, maybe her words had had some effect on the stern man? </p><p>He stayed silent for a while, Joan still standing and looking at him, not moving a single muscle and just waiting.</p><p>“For what it is worth, I am sorry,” Morland said after a few seconds of silence. His voice was deep and troubled “Sherlock was a... difficult and troubling boy. He needed a lot from me, more than Mycroft and much more than I was ready or knew how to give”</p><p>Joan sighed too, some of her anger assuaging in her. </p><p>“I know he’s difficult, even now. Trust me, I know. But the one thing he wanted, the only thing he needed back then, was for you to hold him and be a father to him. That’s all” Joan affirmed, her voice perhaps a tad softer yet still relentless “now it’s just too late”</p><p>Morland looked up to lock eyes with her, and she was shocked to see them wet. No tear left his eye but it was obvious he was affected. He cleared his throat and was silent for a while while he regained his composure. To say that Joan was surprised was an understatement, she hadn’t imagined her words would cut so deep into the businessman’s icy heart.</p><p>“Did I really hurt him so much?”</p><p>Joan sighed internally. She didn’t want to tell him, she didn’t think it was useful to Sherlock’s progress, but she wasn’t about to lie to him either. Morland needed to know exactly what he’d done and to what extent.</p><p>“He was on the brink of breaking” Joan confirmed, and heard Morland suck a shaking breath “but he’s managing now. And being little, despite what you think, is helping him.”</p><p>“How? How does... behaving like a child help?”</p><p>“By venting out his frustrations and pain in a way an adult, particularly an adult Sherlock, never could, and by having someone there to take care of him” she answered, not wanting to explain further. </p><p>Morland nodded, she could tell he didn’t understand what she meant by that, but she wasn’t about to disclose any more. </p><p>“For once, do your son a favour. Don’t judge him for his choices in life, and don’t you dare judge him for wanting to get better” she said, then her voice grew more a few degrees more serious “and if you hurt him again you’ll have to answer to me” </p><p>“I understand,” Morland said finally, remorse very obvious in his voice “I know my apologies mean nothing to him, but... if you could pass them on to my son for... any pain I very obviously have caused. And your warning is duly noted”</p><p>Joan nodded, and with a whispered goodbye, she grabbed her handbag, turned around and left the office, feeling a bit relieved and somehow, remorseful. She’d expected the man to mock her and his son, to kick her out of the office even (not verbally or physically attack her, though, Morland was too subtle for that). What she didn’t expect, however, was for her words to have such an effect on him. She half-smiled to herself, satisfied despite everything, as she walked down the road to catch a taxi back home.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>While Joan was on her ride home, Sherlock was already at the precinct. The meeting with Alfredo, apart from being a mind-blowing dump of information on the poor guy, had had its benefits for Sherlock. After the initial surprise and the occasional giggle of imagining him with a pacifier in his mouth, Alfredo had gone back to his helpful self and had told him to return to the first steps of the AA program.</p><p>One of those steps was to make amends. Sherlock had already begun to do that when he’d found out Mycroft had passed, and he’d been trying to do the same with his father, up until the previous week that is. He had already apologised profusely to Joan for what he’d done more times than he could count, but there were still two people he’d hurt and needed to fix things with; Marcus and the Captain.</p><p>So, that’s where he was, the Captain’s office at the precinct. The Captain was in his usual chair behind his desk, Marcus was standing close to the door, and Sherlock was sitting on the grey sofa looking at a fixed point of the wall behind Gregson.</p><p>“I think I should begin by explaining what has been going on” Sherlock started, trying that his voice didn’t tremble. </p><p>He found his anxiety riling up and he stood up from the sofa rather abruptly, deciding to pace the Captain’s office instead. His hand went to the back of his head, rubbing it to try and collect his thoughts, his other arm wobbling next to his body.</p><p>“We know what has been going on” Marcus answered, perhaps sensing his predicament and anxiety “both of us has seen you being little, we know this was very hard on you. And Joan told me about your father. We understand that and you know we won’t judge. What we’d like to know is why you pushed Joan away, and by extension, us.”</p><p>Sherlock gulped and averted his gaze, ashamed at his behaviour.</p><p>“I... I was embarrassed. My father’s visit made me feel ashamed of what I was attempting to do, but being forced to forego everything was... challenging” he gulped, trying to go past the lump on his throat “being little gives me the chance to feel again, and to deal with those feelings. But after that... all I wanted was to forget and to feel numb, to <em>use </em>again” he put emphasis on the word and saw out of the corner of his eye both the Captain and Marcus’s eyes going wide at his confession “but in order for me to do that, both you and Joan had to go. I don’t... I never wanted to drag her down with me. Same as you.”</p><p>If their shocked expressions and concerned gazes served as reference, they seemed to understand. Sherlock, even in the haze of his pain and unfruitful search for oblivion, never wanted Joan or them to see him spiral down of control.</p><p>“She’s far too pure to be with me. For an unfathomable reason, she has stayed, even when I’ve brought nothing but pain to her” he confessed, his voice almost breaking. He gulped “you have also stayed with me, offering me support when I deserve none. And I apologise. My behaviour was... appalling. It has no excuse, and I would understand if you don’t want me as a consultant for the NYPD－”</p><p>“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there,” the Captain said raising a hand and interrupting him, Sherlock’s lips closed shut. </p><p>Gregson got up from his chair and walked towards the consultant, his pace slow and non-threatening. When he was in front of him he placed a hand on his shoulder, and Sherlock felt the weight of it.</p><p>“You are one of the most stubborn, insubordinate, self-absorbed people I know,” the Captain said, his voice stern. However, he then smiled and his voice turned softer “but in this case, I see that you were trying to do the right thing, or at least you thought you were. The thing is, Sherlock, you were wrong”</p><p>At that, Sherlock looked up and locked eyes with the Captain, he was looking at him with sympathy in his eyes. </p><p>“You should know by now that Joan will never let you go, and neither will we. I believe you’re a great asset to the department, so, I accept your apology and I’m willing to let this go and let you consult again on one condition”</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“That when something like this happens again, you don’t turn your back on us. You trust us to help you deal with it” the Captain said with a warm, encouraging voice “we’re not only colleagues, Sherlock, I think we’re already past that point. We’re friends.”</p><p>Sherlock felt a knot in his chest and tears welling up in his eyes, touched by his words. He sniffled and shook his head momentarily as he blinked, trying to dispel them. He’d realized that ever since he had given in to his instincts and had indulged his little side, his feelings ran closer to the surface than before. He gulped, trying to go past the lump in his throat.</p><p>He then saw Marcus, who’d been standing right next to the door and listening the whole time, walking towards them. Sherlock looked at the Detective and saw a kind smile on his lips as he stopped next to the Captain, right in front of Sherlock.</p><p>“You know what I think about you, we’ve worked together long enough. Just consider this: if I can deal with you being a full-grown spoilt adult, don’t you think Uncle Marcus can deal with a little Sherlock?”</p><p>“Uncle Marcus?” Sherlock repeated with a lopsided, surprised smile.</p><p>“Joan gave me the idea and it sounds great,” Marcus said with a playful smile “and I’ll be glad to be just that for you. If you let me”</p><p>“If you let us” the Captain added.</p><p>Sherlock looked at the two men, a couple of tears finally spilling from his eyes. He realized he had been blind, his need for drugs and his shame had prevented him to see just how cared for he really was, to what extent these people were willing to have him in their lives. He already had the notion but this had shown him that he didn’t just have friends and a support system, he had a family. Not one by blood but by choice, one that was bound by love and respect. He had very nearly broken that, and even then, these people were willing to forgive and forget. </p><p>He looked at them, his nostrils flaring as he tried to regain composure.</p><p>“Thank you” he choked out, incapable of saying anything else. But they understood. The Captain squeezed his shoulder once again before letting go.</p><p>Not long later Sherlock received a text from Joan, she was already back at the brownstone and was asking if he was okay. He texted her back and told her he’d be home soon. He thanked both men and caught a taxi home, all the while thinking about how he couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around her again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Watson!” Joan heard his voice coming from upstairs and the front door closing and she smiled. <em>Just in time for tea</em>, she thought.</p><p>“Down here!” she shouted, knowing he’d come downstairs in a second. Soon enough, she heard his footsteps, the creaking of the old wooden stairs audibly signalling his approach. </p><p>“Hey” Joan greeted him when he got to the kitchen, she was still giving her back to him “kettle’s just boiled, do you want some tea?”</p><p>“Yes thank you” he answered, and she poured water in the teapot and let it settle for a bit, putting the cosy on it to keep it warm “I’ve just been to the precinct. The Captain has given us a few days to “get back to our feet” as he put it, he’ll call us when he has an interesting case for us”</p><p>Joan turned around to look at him. She immediately noticed he looked different, his stance much more at ease than she’d seen him in weeks, his shoulders were relaxed and slightly hunched, his hands unclenched next to his body, he was just bouncing slightly on his feet. </p><p>“Did you talk to them?”</p><p>“I did, and apologised” he answered, taking a couple more steps towards her and manoeuvring around her to grab two mugs from the cupboard as Joan took out the sugar, honey and milk “Alfredo suggested it”</p><p>Joan smiled, she knew calling Alfredo would be the right way to go. She had already told Sherlock he should talk to their friends and apologise, and he was aware that was something he needed to do. But she knew that Alfredo would find the way to convince him to do it as soon as possible. She smiled as she nodded approvingly. </p><p>“I’m proud of you” she whispered, her smile wider when she saw Sherlock’s slightly abashed but pleased expression, a light blush on his cheeks.</p><p>She turned around to pour them tea when she noticed a pair of arms encircling her waist, her back colliding with a strong, warm chest. She felt his stubbly cheek rub against her skin until his chin rested on her right shoulder, inhaling the scent of her hair, intoxicating himself with it.</p><p>“I... I missed you” he whispered against her skin, his voice husky and deep, sounding a bit embarrassed. His arms hugged her more tightly once his words had left his mouth, and Joan felt something akin to love and affection bubble inside her chest.</p><p>Her hands left the teapot on the counter and went towards his arms, which were settled against her stomach, and she gently squeezed them.</p><p>“Oh, honey... I missed you too” Joan whispered. She tilted her head so she could kiss his cheek, enjoying immensely the way the stubble felt against her lips.</p><p>Judging by how tightly he was holding on to her Joan could see he needed her physical presence and comfort. Ever since Hernan’s arrest and the subsequent fallout it had been the first time they’d been apart, and not having Joan around for hours was bound to affect Sherlock somehow. To be honest, she had also missed his presence, it was hard to be parted from him for too long now. </p><p>Sherlock’s grip was strong but she wriggled and managed to turn around and return his embrace, pulling him close as he breathed in and out, not upset but clearly needing her close. She rested her face against his clavicle, letting him rest his against the top of her head.</p><p>“I’m right here, sweetheart” she whispered, letting him draw comfort from her and find peace in her embrace as she gently swayed them both left and right, their bodies organically moulding to each other and calling out for each other as if they were made to fit perfectly. </p><p>Neither of them knew how long they stood there relishing in each other’s embrace and warmth until she felt Sherlock draw back a little. She let him go, returning to their mugs and handing one to him with a soft smile.</p><p>“I have something to tell you” she stated, sitting down on one of the chairs and beckoning Sherlock to sit next to her. He did, sipping on his tea and leaving the mug on the table with anticipation “I went to see your father today”</p><p>She carefully observed Sherlock’s expression, she needed to make sure she hadn’t overstepped, and saw bewilderment and surprise flick through his eyes. He scowled his features momentarily, she knew he didn’t really know how to react so he was pulling away, so she took a deep breath, wanting to allay his fears.</p><p>“He won’t hurt you anymore,” she told him, her voice warm and steady, “I told him why we were doing this and told him to not call again unless he was ready to accept it”</p><p>Sherlock locked eyes with her, and the moment he did his mask fell. His pupils dilated with fear and he leaned forward on his chair, stopping just mere inches away from her.</p><p>“Did he... did he hurt you? Is he going to evict us?”</p><p>Joan smiled softly and shook her head.</p><p>“No, nothing like that” she answered “I didn’t tell him about the drugs. And even if I had, you didn’t use, so his threat wouldn’t apply”</p><p>“Still. You know my father, he gets what he wants one way or another; if he wanted to take the brownstone back for himself he－”</p><p>“He won’t” she interrupted him “in fact, he seemed quite shocked when I warned him. I think he honestly regrets what he did”</p><p>Sherlock said nothing, he seemed to be thinking, considering how he should feel exactly in front of these new developments. Joan smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly, as Sherlock looked at her.</p><p>“He won’t hurt you again, I promise. I won’t let him” she whispered.</p><p>Sherlock nodded, his eyes glistening slightly.</p><p>“You don’t know how grateful I am for this, Watson” he mumbled, and his voice sounded shaky.</p><p>“You don’t have to be. I needed to do this too” she answered “I won’t let him hurt my little boy again. He’s going to have to answer to me if he does”</p><p>Sherlock nodded again, gulping, as Joan kept her hand on his shoulder, her fingers rubbing the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body against her palm.</p><p>“Can I... I need...” Sherlock tried, but it seemed he couldn’t voice what he wanted to say. Joan squeezed his shoulder again, reminding him that she was with him. Sherlock took a deep breath and looked at her with pleading eyes “I’d like to be little... if you are amenable, that is”</p><p>“I’m more than amenable, honeybee” Joan used a new term of endearment she’d never used before. She smiled when seeing Sherlock’s ears turn red, and her hand that had previously been on his shoulder travelled towards his cheek, brushing the back of her fingers against his skin.</p><p>Her other hand went towards his breast pocket confidently, no doubt in her mind about what she would find, and took out the pacifier he always kept hidden in there.</p><p>“I’ve missed my baby boy today” she whispered, biting the insides of her cheek, slightly embarrassed, as she offered Sherlock the dummy.</p><p>Sherlock’s lips grabbed the rubber of the pacifier and closed around it, starting to suck as soon as he did. His eyes closed momentarily and he took a deep breath to then release it through his nose, his shoulders relaxing immediately as he rested his back against the chair.</p><p>“I ‘issed you too ‘oanie” he whined, his voice as little as they come, before he jumped from his seat and climbed onto Joan’s lap. </p><p>She allowed it, letting him find a comfortable position before she encircled him with her arms and placed a kiss on his forehead. He wasn’t crying, thank god, and he wasn’t upset, but he noticed that the very same itch she had had all day to hold him was the same he had been feeling as well. An itch to be together, to take care of her child and to spoil him rotten. </p><p>She smiled softly, feeling Sherlock’s muscles relax and release their tension under her touch, his body much calmer and heavier than before. Joan felt relief washing through her, for the first time in weeks they could enjoy their mutual company and Sherlock could be little not because he couldn’t control his urges, not because his feelings got the better of him, but because he simply wanted to. Morland hadn’t taken that desire away from him after all, and Joan could only feel alleviated she hadn’t lost her little detective in the process. She held him tight, caressing his thinning hair at the top of his head, tousling it and smoothing it in equal measure.</p><p>“What do you say we put a nappy on and watch some TV, mmh?” Joan asked a while later. She had finished her tea and had nudged Sherlock to finish his, but he hadn’t wanted it “would you like some cuddles in bed?”</p><p>Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, not feeling the need to speak. She nudged him up, took a couple of minutes to prepare a bottle for him, and together they went upstairs towards Joan’s bedroom, which was slowly becoming <em>their </em>bedroom. She had made some space in her closet to stash a few nappies and one of Sherlock’s child pyjamas, which worked perfectly since now she didn’t have to go back and forth to his bedroom to pick up stuff.</p><p>The boy walked straight to bed and lay there, not needing to be told what to do, as Joan took one of the nappies out of the bag and put it on, putting the pyjamas on him too. He looked positively adorable with his paci and clad in his <em>Midnight Ranger </em>pyjamas (a joke between them). He kept making slurp sounds as he sucked the pacifier, his eyes open and observing her. </p><p>The way he stared when he was little was incredibly different from the way he did when he was big, Joan had noticed. When he was big he was analytical, his brain making deductions as fast as his eyes observed and catalogued input. When he was little, however, he wasn’t analysing or deducing. He was, simply, looking, taking everything in as any child would, absorbing information like a sponge. And giving it. </p><p>His entire stance, movements and body language changed and the way he was looking at her now, with pure adoration and trust in his eyes... Joan didn’t think she could ever get used to being looked at with such feeling and fondness Sherlock’s eyes held when he was little. It was like she was his entire universe, like he was seeing stars in her eyes, and she wondered if maybe that was the feeling he was going after when he was using drugs.</p><p>When she was finished changing him Sherlock stretched out his arms, opening and closing his palms. Joan smiled, knowing that meant he wanted to be held, and she moved to sit on the bed with her back resting against the bedpost. He lay horizontally on the bed placing his head on Joan’s lap and closed his eyes, his lips still sucking around the pacifier. He seemed content and breathed in deeply to then expel the air from his lungs through his nose, his eyes closing as he felt her hand on his hair, fondling and petting. Sherlock's long arm was extended and his large fingers were brushing against Joan's shin, his fingertips running up and down the skin.</p><p>She smiled, reaching towards the bedside table to grab the bottle. When Sherlock heard the milk being shaken he opened his eyes and took the pacifier out his mouth, accepting the nipple willingly and starting to drink. He looked at his caregiver, his eyes open and fixed on hers, and it felt as though he was capable of seeing every nook and cranny of her heart. She felt chills down her spine, she had never been so open and vulnerable with anyone as she was with Sherlock. And yet, she felt no anxiety or fear at being emotionally naked before him. She, who demanded Sherlock to confide in her but played it close to her vest when it came to her own feelings, felt no fear with him. He was her little boy and life partner, and whether he was big or little there was no other place she wanted to be. And with nobody else.</p><p>She knew their future would not be easy and she was aware that their life was hectic, exhilarating and, many times, dangerous. But as she looked at Sherlock, as she got lost in his green eyes and felt him ripping his soul apart and laying it bare at her feet, just as hers, she knew all would be well in the end. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, that is all! Thank you for your support in this story!</p><p>Take lots of care, don't hesitate to hit me up on twitter or tumblr if you want or if you have suggestions or ideas for further stories, and see you soon!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Kudos and reviews much appreciated! If you have a suggestion for this fic, don't hesitate to write it to me! </p><p>Hit me up on twitter if you like: @memelovescaps<br/>And on Tumblr: memelovescaps.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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